As you sow
by LigeiaMaloy
Summary: A background story for two TF2-OCs created by BlastedKing. A story telling the childhood of the Christian Brutal twins years before they got in touch with "their" team. If you don't know those OCs, this might seem like general fiction to you, so check out BK's artworks on DA and tumblr, you won't regret it! Warning: an ugly, not happy story about child abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**As you sow, so you shall reap**

Galatians 6:7

Part 1

_June, 1949, Afternoon_

"Dad! Daddy! Look, I hit it, I hit it!"

His smile as wide as his opened arms, the tall, broad-shouldered man caught the lively child and whirled him around. "Geez, beginner's luck," another boy sneered, his hair of the same color like his brother's.

"Be proud of your brother! Remember how excited you were at your first home-run?" White teeth flashed through the bushy beard and, holding the smaller boy under one arm, he patted his other son's shoulder.

"Riiiight, you are just jealous, dumbass! Because you were older when _you_did it!" His feet dangling in the air, the smaller child, not older than four or five, stuck his tongue out. His brother pulled a face as an answer and the father laughed, gently putting his boy back to the soft ground.

"Both of you are great, gifted, amazing, athletic young men! Now, run and ask Mom for some ice-cream before the Red Sox take you away! And leave some for me!" he shouted after them as they dashed away, smilingly picking up the baseball bat that had been thrown into the grass so carelessly by his youngest son.

Still smiling, he joined the group of the other men who attended the Church's picnic. The day couldn't have been more perfect. Yesterday's weather had been ugly with its persistent showers of rain and cold wind. But around the evening hours, the sky suddenly had cleared; and over night, the temperature had risen. Today was an early and mild summer day; the sun had dried the large meadow behind the community hall nicely, and a fresh, grassy scent lingered in the air, still speaking of spring, but already promising a hot, wonderful summer filled with garden parties, swimming and laughing children.

"...that's why I was against Truman's politic all the time," the gray-haired school principal was just declaring, nodding violently to stress his point.

"But you have to admit, Jonathan, that his decision to bomb Japan made an impressive example other nations won't forget about any time soon. And as long as the world is restoring its order..." the man next to him pointed out, but was interrupted.

"Nonsense! Mark my word, Harold, from Truman there's nothing good to expect in the long run. Hey Ben!" the principal greeted the young father, generously offering him a cigar the grinning man gratefully accepted. "Have you finally tired those boys of yours out? I daresay, those live wires will be the final nails to my coffin when their first year at school starts in a few weeks!"

"Don't worry, Jonathan, you'll only have to deal with one, so you can get used to it," Ben retorted good-naturedly, "Are you again talking about politics of a war that's long over? What's your opinion, Charles? Will Harry lead our nation into an early apocalypse? Or will he save the world from hunger and oblivion?"

Raising one disapproving eyebrow, Charles – an equally tall, bulky man in his late thirties – turned to the younger, red-haired man. "Benjamin, this is hardly the right place and time for your blasphemous jokes. But if you wish for my honest opinion – the Lord will see to it that things turn out right. If he chooses our president to be a worthy harbinger of peace or not is not in our influence." Frowning, Charles adjusted his square glasses and nodded stiffly at the other men before he turned around and left for one of the longish, wooden picnic tables standing under the wide, emerald green branches of a nearby poplar.

"I tell you, he's so grim and obstinate about..."

More he couldn't understand as he moved away from the group, not interested in their gossip and trivial, blaspheme chatter.

"Caroline!" he snapped as he sat down on the wooden bench before the clean, white plate his wife was just about to fill with potato salad. "I saw you talking with Ben's unruly brats a minute ago. I do not approve of you spoiling them."

"But Charles, they are cute little boys, I thought a piece of cake..." Her eyes were focused on her hands as she closed the lid of a big plastic bowl tightly. Her soft voice was drowned at once by her husband's snort.

"Cute! Obnoxious, loud devils! This red hair is suspicious enough! Red hair, as their father's, if you know what I mean," he added and laughed, his eyes staring at the dark-haired, small woman in front of him, and snorted again when she twitched at his last remark.

Grimly, without another word, he waited until she sat down, too, and in silence they emptied their plates. Behind him, he heard the sound of a ball being hit by a wooden bat, the cheerful yells of the smaller boy and the praising exclamations of the copper-headed father.

"Pack up, we go home." He reached for his jacket, looked around and when he found the priest of their little community, he joined him for a few parting words. Caroline stayed behind, stacking plates and bowls in the picnic basket, now and then glancing at the playing trio on the meadow, a melancholic smile on her lips when Ben hugged both his boys. She hurried to put on her jacket and fixed her hat when her husband returned.

Calling a few words of goodbye to a by-standing, merrily chatting group of women, they left the ground and began their walk home.

The housewives had stopped their talk and looked after the stiff pair - he being two heads taller and almost twice as wide as his delicate, pale wife. In the bright sunlight, their dark, almost black hair shone like polished ebony.

"Poor Caroline, how thin she has become!" One of the ladies finally broke the silence with a sigh; the others nodded.

"You are so right, dear. Wasn't she plump and pretty, with her rosy cheeks and her round belly..."

"I'm dying to know what happened. I mean, after all this time... What?" A third woman glanced challengingly at her friends when they gasped in shock at her words. "Admit it, it is strange. He was always a bit weird, but when she was finally blessed, he became almost amiable. And she looked so happy... I really wonder what happened. Was there an accident at the delivery? Was the child..."

"Amanda, that's enough!" A round, rosy woman interrupted her so vigorously that even the baby she was feeding at her breast stopped suckling. "Whatever happened, the little angel is in a better place now, and if Caroline needs more time to deal with the pain, we have to respect that!"

"I guess you are right... but seriously... five years... One should think that's enough..."

Unaware that they had become the main topic of the suburban gossip again, the couple walked along white fences and a row of lovingly cared for gardens and driveways. Several red and white cars – the pride of every upper middle-class – stood freshly washed before carefully painted garage doors and reflected the light of the evening sun.

Finally, they reached their destination – a pretty, almost new, wainscot white house, as neat and dainty as those of their neighbors along the street. The rose-bushes under the front windows bloomed with bright-red blossoms and the first bees of the year inspected them eagerly. The green branches had nearly covered half of the windows by now, but even the more fastidious residents agreed that it would be a shame to cut them down – this year, the bushes were extraordinarily beautiful.

Charles went ahead, searching for his keys. When he was just about to turn the doorknob, he frowned, his mouth twitching angrily.

"Oh, Charles, no! Please no! Not today!" Caroline's face turned paler than before, as it always did when her husband's features showed more than the angered frown. The disturbingly delighted gleam in his eyes never ceased to scare her.

And she, too, had heard the noises from inside – a crashing piece of pottery, followed by the sound of two pairs of small, limping feet hurriedly running away.

_14th of February, 1944_

"Charles, no! Please no!" the young woman cried, holding her red, burning cheek. Tears ran from her dark-rimmed eyes. An elderly nurse made a quick, polite excuse and left the upset pair alone. As she closed the door behind her, she suddenly remembered the reason for the ugly outburst, knowing she should return. But as she heard the angry, aggressive voice from inside, she sadly shook her head, took a deep breath and returned to the nurses' room. After all, if the husband complained about her because she intermingled with a patient's family affairs, _she_would be the one in trouble. Soon, she would forget about the ugly incident anyway. There had been too many of them throughout her years at this hospital to remember them all.

"How could you! Caroline! After all I've done for you! Is _this_how you respect the Lord and the sacred bond? Is _this_how you respect_me_?" Scornfully, his face distorted in disgust, he pointed at the small bed next to his wife. Two newborn baby boys were sleeping peacefully. Their identical faces didn't even flinch at the man's harsh voice, the little hands touching – small, white and delicate like those of a doll – enough for a deceitful promise of security and warmth.

"I don't know what you are talking about, darling, they are your sons..." she stammered desperately, and cried out in pain when he slapped her for the second time today. His eyes glared menacingly at her and he lowered his voice to a hiss.

"Don't you dare to call these abominations my sons! Harlot! Whore of Babylon!" He raised his hand again and she turned away, covering her face with her arms. Then he halted, suddenly looking thoughtfully as he stared at the twins with narrowed eyes.

"I should throw you out of the house! But the devil himself planted his seed inside of you, and I won't let him win by putting myself into the wrong. No," he said firmly, "I will not answer your sin with another. I will think of something. No, you won't bring me down. Not you! The Lord will give me the strength I need to pass the trial." Mumbling a short prayer, he rushed out of the room, not deigning to look at his wife and the children.

Trembling, the young mother stared after him, expecting the door to open again any moment. After a while, she calmed down and the tears stopped flowing. Tenderly, she looked at the twins and smiled. "Everything will be okay, my little ones." Her fingertips slowly ran through the short, fluffy hair – flaxen, so unlike her own or that of her husband's. As if they wanted to show her that it didn't matter at all, both children yawned the toothless yawn of all babies, and lazily opened their eyes. A clear, cerulean blue gaze met hers. Carefully, she took one child after another out of the crib and held them close to her chest. As she began to rock back and forth, humming a soft, joyful tune, the nurse returned.

She smiled at the seemingly peaceful picture – another young mother with her newborns, not the first today. "Don't worry, my dear," she reassured her as she noticed the worried, amber-colored eyes. "Many children have blond hair and blue eyes when they are born. In a few years you won't recognize them again, you'll see!"

_Three days later_

Nervously, Caroline chewed on her lip while she followed her husband into the house. The air of thrilled, happy anticipation the rooms had held only a few days ago when her labor had begun, had vanished. Dark and gloomy was the living room around her as she walked forward, careful not to bump into one of the furniture with the baby carrier she held in her hands.

Charles hadn't called or visited her and her children after he had stormed out of the hospital, and when he finally came to fetch her and the twins, she had been relieved. But by now it dawned on her that she had rejoiced too soon. His face was still angry, and unbearably cold whenever he stared at the babies. And although the fact that he arrived in the middle of the night should have warned her, she had chosen to ignore any negative assumptions. On the drive home, she had tried to talk to him, speaking and soothing him with the similar soft, gentle voice she used for her sons, but his eyes were focused on the road ahead, his lips tightly pressed together.

Now, the young woman rather resembled an insecure girl than a proud mother of two healthy twins. She knew her husband well enough - he had never been one for fancies and celebrations not related to the holidays of the church. Yet, against hope, she had secretly dreamed of a little surprise party, a warm, happy welcome celebration once she would return and bring their babies home. That had been her private, secret fancy during her pregnancy, never suspecting reality would turn out like this.

Once Charles had reached the cellar door and turned the key, his face absent and indifferent, even Caroline couldn't deny the truth anymore. At this moment, she knew it - they would never be a normal, happy family. One look at his face told her the proud, dark-haired man would never accept two little, fair boys as his. And if she didn't turn around now her little children would never live a happy life. Instead of sleeping and playing in the small, but bright children's room she and Charles had prepared over the last months with so much heart and love, they returned to their home in the dark, considered a shame and a disgrace to the family instead of the pride.

He gave her a sign to follow as he switched on the light and, bowing her head, she obliged, giving the napping babies an apologetic smile when her husband had turned his back on them.

At first, she hesitated, but when her husband's glare didn't change she did as she was told and put the twins on an old spare bed, wondering where he had gotten two old pieces of furniture like this, and how he had explained why he needed them. But she didn't dare to ask. Instead, she tugged the blanket around them, as safely and warmly as she could, so they wouldn't fall out of the bed if they moved too much.

"Have you fed them?" The lack of genuine worry and curiosity every father would show in his question hurt her, but she nodded, gently stroking the soft, pale cheeks of her baby boys. She hid a smile when the grips of the little hands tightened around each other as a reflex to her touch. At least she wouldn't leave one child all alone in this cold, moldy prison their cellar had become.

"Maybe... I should stay a while at my mother's place, with the boys. Until..." She didn't know how to finish her sentence, and it wasn't necessary. An indignant snort cut her short, telling her at once how much he valued her idea. Again, she gave her sons a silent, smiled apology – after more than six hours of labor to bring them into the world and the lonely, sorrowful wait for the return of her husband, she had used up all her strength and courage.

"Do you think I'd allow you to disgrace me again, woman?" His almost amused voice told her all too clearly that he'd make sure that anything like that would never happen. Whatever she might want to do, he would nip any nonsense in the bud. "My wife and two children leaving my house for weeks, just the kind of gossip the neighborhood is waiting for. I'll tell you this only once, so you better listen – no word will ever be said about these things." Frowning in disgust, he nodded at the slumbering children. For a moment, the young mother feared he would spit at them, but she didn't dare to block them from his view.

"For the rest of the world, they will never exist. If somebody asks, make something up. A miscarriage, whatever, I don't care. I repeat, they don't exist! When they are old enough, we'll find a convent school for them, far away from here. And there they will stay for the rest of their lives and we go on like nothing happened. Shut up!" he shouted when she couldn't suppress a sob. "And get away from these things!" At his raised voice, one of the little boys blinked. But the sleepy, clear-blue eyes were not prepared for the scornful glare of black eyes. The baby began to cry, waking up his brother, who, unaware what had upset his twin, joined him.

"SHUT UP, HELLSPAWN!" But his anger made them only cry more, and finally, he lifted his foot. When he was just about to stomp on the small, whining creatures, his wife reacted, throwing herself between the kick and her babies.

"DON'T, CHARLES! Don't sin against them!" All her pain and despair lay in her begging voice, and she joined the crying of her children, finally understanding the misery the birth of two innocent, blond boys had brought over her.

This time, Charles spit at them. Then he turned around and climbed up the stairs.

"Make them shut up. And come upstairs when you are done. Don't take too long, or I'll come and see to it myself." Among the sobs and cries of the woman and the two baby boys mixed his lowly spoken prayer,asking his Lord for forgiveness. He shouldn't have given into the provoking tears of the devil's whore and their spawn. Thanking him for the strength the Lord has granted him to realize his mistakes.

_The next morning_

During their first night at their new home, nobody had known when they were sleeping or crying, they had been left alone in the basement, with a father who didn't care to look after them, and a mother who didn't dare.

The first noises heard in the small, white house were Caroline's hurried steps as she rushed into the kitchen. She was late, and before the smell of fresh brewed coffee could fill the living room, her husband arrived. As his wife, the lack of sleep was evident in his face, yet the haunted, nervous look Caroline showed was missing. He appeared to be in an visibly good mood this morning. Although he had to wait longer than usual for his coffee and the egg, he didn't say a word. Like every morning, he picked up the newspaper and began to read the feuilleton. From the radio a variety of soft and jaunty Jazz songs were played in turns; only occasionally the hisses of the old coffee machine were louder. When Caroline finally arrived at the table, holding the coffee pot, she couldn't stop her hands from trembling while she tried to fill her husband's cup. Chinaware clashed against chinaware and a few drops of coffee missed their destination, spoiling the white, new tablecloth. Scared, she glanced at her husband, shrinking in size even more, but he only shook his head, without looking up from the article he was reading.

"Caroline, you surprise me. Usually, you are not that careless. Well, be that as it may." The newspaper rustled as he turned the pages. "Sit down now, I have to go to work soon."

Once she sat, he put his reading away and focused on the hard boiled egg standing in front of him. After a little while, he pointed his spoon reproachfully at his wife. "You were negligent with your make-up today. Your eye looks ugly. Fix that before you leave the house." Self-consciously, her fingertips touched the blackened skin under her left eye. "I'm sorry, darling," she meekly apologized. "I don't have the right kind of camouflage to make this kind of... flaw disappear. But I'll try again after cleaning up the table and the kitchen, don't worry," she hurried to add when she saw her husband's disapproving face.

"Good," he grumbled, and took a sip of coffee. "For a second I thought you would try a trick to squeeze money out of me, for your womanish frippery. Not the best timing." They finished their breakfast in silence. Only once in a while he complained about the music they played - modern Jazz would never be an acceptable distraction. Unfortunately, this radio station still offered the best newscast, otherwise he'd demand to change it. As he more or less spoke to himself, Caroline refrained from answering or commenting his rants. After the last night, she was glad he behaved like he always did, like nothing had ever happened or changed in their life. However, the burning pain of her eyes made it impossible to push the new family secret out of her mind, and as her husband was occupied by other matters, she dared to let her thoughts wander to the little children lying in the basement.

Finishing his breakfast by shoving the plate away from him, Charles picked up the newspaper to finish reading. After that, he would go to work. Like every day.

As quiet as possible, she cleared the table and refilled his cup with the remaining coffee. Back in the kitchen, she cleaned the dishes and put them away. Just when Charles had finished reading, she returned, two feeding bottles in her hands.

His face turned crimson the instant he saw her, and the chair was shoved under the table with more violence than necessary.

"Ungrateful woman! You couldn't wait until I'm gone! Are you mocking me? Me, your provider?" His fist slammed on the table and she almost dropped the bottles.

"I'm... I'm sorry... darling, it's just... I prepared these and didn't think... and Michael and Gabriel... they..." As so often before, she didn't have the opportunity to finish her explanation.

"_Michael? Gabriel?_Are you completely... I thought I hit your eye and not your ears last night!" he bellowed, and for a moment she feared he would leap at her and knock her down again. "No names, I said! NO NAMES for these things! How DARE you naming them, names of the archangels of all things!" A thick vein on his forehead swelled dangerously and she backed off, her back hitting against one of the bookshelves. She gulped and took a deep breath, the bottles pressed to her chest like she were protecting her children.

"Charles, they need names, they are human beings! Please, I beg you, you have decided about their life already, please allow me to choose names for them!" His features neither altered nor softened as he glared at her, and finally, she went down on her knees, crying. "Charles, I beg you. Allow me to name them! They are our... my babies, I must name them, please... I promise, I do anything you want, but please...!" Her gaze focused on the floor, she waited for an answer, surrounded by an awful, hostile silence. A few minutes passed, then she heard him turn away and leave. "Charles?"

Still kneeling on the carpet, she listened how he put on his jacket, took his briefcase and keys. But instead of leaving the house, he returned, looking at his wife with contempt. "Listen, Caroline. Name your brood if you must. I will allow it. In return, you won't talk back anymore. This is my house, my household, I will not tolerate any more disrespect from you. I decide what happens to those things. They stay downstairs, as long as they are allowed to stay in my house, I don't want to see or hear them. We don't talk about them. They are not my concern." She lifted her head, her eyes wide open, about to say something, but one stern glare and she closed her mouth before saying anything.

"You've just promised it a minute ago, Caroline. You gave them names, now you follow my orders. For dinner, I want roast and potatoes. Don't cook them too long, you know I hate them when they are too soft." With that, he left and a moment later, she heard how the door was opened and closed again. She was alone. Quickly, she stood up, sighing with relief. However, she began to understand how high the price was she had to pay, for the names of her children. But she refused to worry. She would have a few, precious hours with her babies, feed them, cuddle them, sing to them, calling them Gabriel and Michael as often as she wanted. Even if she already felt that nothing good would come from the bargain she had made with her husband, no sane person could have guessed how the future would be for two little creatures whose voices had grown weak after hours of crying.

_June, 1949, Evening_

"Let his hand go!"

But the boy didn't listen. Again, the belt came down, smacking against the child's bare legs. As so many evenings before, the twins were lying across one of the beds on their stomachs. They had become used to the smacking sound when the sturdy leather lashed against soft skin. Sometimes it was a belt, sometimes a thin strap, sometimes one of the old dog leashes. Whatever the man thought appropriate. A few days ago, they had been really naughty. That was what he said. They didn't understand what they had done, even their mother couldn't explain it to them. Maybe nothing would have happened if Michael hadn't asked why the man yelled at them. Neither he nor his brother could know that whenever they looked at the man with their blue eyes wide open, they gave him the ultimate reason to punish them. That day, he had thought a thin iron chain was a good choice.

The wounds had just begun to heal. But now, under the impact of the leather belt, they were opened again and after a few blows, blood ran down their legs. Yet, Michael refused to let Gabriel's hand go. He had promised.

The thin boy didn't have to turn his head to know what was happening behind them. The man was raising his arm again, and in the corner stood their mother and watched them, silently. She had told them that they had to obey. Father was always right. He gave them food and the place to sleep. She had said so, often, since he and his brother could remember. And they believed her. She was their mother.

Michael didn't know how often he had counted to ten since the man had yelled at them, and ordered them to lie down on the bed. Finally, his legs began to feel numb, now he wouldn't feel the following blows anymore, and his sobs grew weaker. Next to him, he heard his brother. He wished he could see him, but with the dim light and his eyes flooded with tears the world was blurry. But he felt the warm hand in his, how it twitched and trembled whenever the belt hit Gabriel's legs. His brother's sobs grew louder.

"Michael!" The stern voice echoed in his little head, but he didn't dare to answer. Even if he wanted to, tears were blocking his throat - all he could have managed would be coughing. "Let the hand go!"

The small boy winced at the shrill sound of the belt as it cut through the air. Yet, the impact didn't happen, not on his legs.

Instead, his twin howled in pain. " . !" With every word, another strong blow hit the other boy's calves, making a sickening, squishy sound. He felt small, wet drops splattering against his own skin. The numbness of his own body already left him and the burning pain flashed through his limbs. Violently, he blinked the tears away, trying as hard as he could to catch a look of his brother's face. Half-buried in the mattress, only one tearful eye gazed back at him, the boy's cheek as wet as the fabric underneath. From afar, Michael thought he heard someone sobbing, too, but he didn't care. The pleading look of his brother confused him, why was he expected to do something. What was he expected to do? Finally, his young mind understood what was happening. If he didn't obey the man's order, not he would be hit. Gabriel would have to take the pain instead.

But he had promised him!

He couldn't remember which was the first of the many dark, cold nights down here when they had huddled against each other in one bed, wrapped up in two thin blankets while they listened to the sounds of darkness. Mother had said they should care for each other. Gabriel had begged him to never leave him alone. And after one evening similar to today, he had promised his brother – even if there was nothing else he could do, he would never let his hand go.

Another violent sob came from his throat. He didn't know what to do. Maybe the man would leave his brother alone if he did as he was told. But... he had promised! One drop of his brother's blood splashed on his face. Slowly, he loosened his grip around Gabriel's small hand.

"No..." His heart ached when he heard the weak, almost inaudible voice that sounded so much like his own. He hesitated. Before he could make up his mind what would be right, his brother grabbed his hand, with a strength that surprised Michael. Biting his lip until the skin opened and he could taste his own blood on his tongue, he drew himself closer to his brother's body. Maybe he could shield him, maybe just a bit. He heard the scornful voice shouting angry orders and asking the man from the holy book for strength and forgiveness, but he couldn't understand half of the words. The whistling sound of the belt, the rushing of his own blood, the whimpers of his brother – all this deafened his ears for everything else that was happening around the two of them. In the end, he only heard how his brother had become quiet. Being desperate because every movement hurt so much that he couldn't even lift his head, he even failed to notice that the beating had stopped. The sound of a slammed door reminded him that there was more in this world than his twin.

"Mike, my darling..." A soft, soothing voice suddenly hovered over his head and a gentle hand stroked over his head and ran through his shaggy, light-brown hair. Mother. "Mom... Gabe..."

She helped him to turn around and cleaned his face with a handkerchief until he could finally see better. His legs hurt and he felt how blood was running down his ankles, but it wasn't so bad. Not worse than usual.

He looked at his brother, and shrieked. The boy's eyes were closed, and blood dried on his lips. They had both developed the habit to bite their lips when the pain in other body parts became too strong.

"Mom!" he yelled. "Gabe! Gabe! Mom! Wake him up! Gabe!" About to panic, he shook his twin by his shoulders, staring at the pale, wet face and the open, blood-covered gashes on Gabriel's legs in turns.

"Calm down, my boy, he will be alright. Let him rest a bit." She pulled the boy in an embrace and hugged him tightly, rocking him like a little baby, ignoring when he tried to struggle himself free. "Gabe..." When he thought he saw his brother's eyelids twitch, he sobbed again.

"CAROLINE!" a harsh, dominant voice shouted from upstairs. "Come and make dinner! I'm hungry!"

"Yes, darling!" She let the boy go at once and rushed to the stairs. But for a moment, she hesitated. Then she pulled a small key from the pocket of her skirt and hurried back, and pulled a small chest from under the boy's bed. Quickly, she opened it, took a dark-green bottle and a roll of bandages out and shut it close again. "Here, Mike." Nervously looking over her shoulder, like to make sure that her husband wasn't watching, she shoved the items in her son's arm. "You remember what I taught you a few days ago? After the chain? Good boy." She smiled faintly when he nodded. "Take care of your brother."

"CAROLINE!"

"Mommy loves you! Good night!" She bent over and kissed Michael's forehead and patted the unconscious Gabriel's back, then she dashed up the stairs. "Coming, darling!"

The boy didn't even wait until she was gone. He tore off a piece of the bandages with his teeth and opened the bottle. The strong smell of the iodine mixed with the scent of drying blood made him gag. Yet he tried not to flinch and began to clean his brother's wounds, careful to not let his tears fall on the opened skin. After a while, the legs began to twitch.

"He's gone?"

"Gabe!" He dropped the bottle to the ground and fell around his brother's neck. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop him..." Gabriel lifted his head and small, identical noses touched.

"You liar!" the twin cried out, but hugged his brother back. "You promised! You wanted to leave me, but you promised!"

"I'm sorry, Gabe. I didn't want to! Never want to leave you! But he was so mean..."

"I don't care!" Sobbing again, he pushed Michael away from him and took his hands. "Promise again! Cross your heart and hope to die, if you ever leave Gabe alone again!"

Mike nodded gravely. It was unusual to hear his shy brother talking so much, so this was very, very important. With all the earnest solemnness only sad, five years old children could muster up, he put his and his brother's hand on his chest. "I cross my heart and hope to die if I ever leave Gabe alone again!"

With that, the matter was resolved and Michael carefully continued to bandage his brother's legs. Although his injuries weren't as bad as his twin's, Gabe insisted that Mike's legs were bandaged, too, or they wouldn't look like twins. Michael agreed. Both began to giggle when they told each other how they had sneaked out of their room when their mother and the man had left, and how funny it was to dare each other climbing the cupboard.

They fell silent at once when the door opened, but only the light was switched off. Giggling again, they climbed in Michael's bed. Gabriel's was still wet with blood and tears and began to smell funny. Like every night, the two small bodies huddled against each other, sharing their warmth, and finally fell asleep.

_Another night_

"I don't like mother," Gabe suddenly stated, his voice hoarse after crying and from throwing up earlier. Mike sneezed when his brother's wet hair tickled his nose. It was chilly tonight, his shivering twin was cold against his skin, and he tried to pull the blanket tighter around them. But he had to admit that Gabe's cold cheek felt good against his burning face. But the tiny water drops really tickled. He sneezed again.

"Why?" he finally asked. "She plays with us. She never hurt us. She says she loves us and he..." He talked fast and eagerly, too fast, too eager, desperate to convince himself – he knew what his brother was about to say.

"She's lying! You are lying! You are a liar, too!" Despite his angry, desperate tears, he crawled as close into his twins arms as he could.

"I am not!" Mike protested, hugging him. "Don't always say I am!" He shivered, too, and his face and legs hurt so much. And his twin was wrong. Their mother had said the truth. And he didn't lie, he just couldn't do anything. Hurting, freezing and helpless to deal with his brother's tears, he cried, too.

He couldn't understand why the day ended like this when it started so nice.

It was the first day since the incident with the broken china that they were allowed to come upstairs. Their mother had come down as soon as she had heard how her husband's car had left the driveway. Hurriedly, she had turned the key and softly called for them.

It was always a bit of an adventure when the door opened and all they could see at first was a bright, diffuse light telling them the night was definitely over. At this point, they never knew what would happen. Something good like food or fresh clothes. Or something bad and they would be yelled at and beaten. Today was one of the marvelous, funny days they spent together with their mother in the warm living room. The walls looked so different, and the floor – the carpet – felt soft under their feet. Even small things were fun, like climbing on a chair and letting their small legs dangle. Maybe their mother would sit down with them and switch on the TV and they could watch a show, together, and laugh like there was no monster lurking behind the big front door. Their mother had warned them since they started to walk – if they would go through that door, a monster would do things to them ten times worse than the man.

But for now, they had to sit at the table and Gabe, feeling bored, chewed at his pencil. He wanted to play with his brother, but it wasn't even easy to see his face, with the woman sitting between them. Flinching when his bandaged legs accidentally hit against the table, he began to rock his chair forward and backwards.

"Gabriel, my angel, what's wrong with you today?" He dived away when their mother's hand came closer. She smiled and stroke his cheek instead. Somehow, he had guessed something like this would happen. But he wanted to be careful. Suddenly moving hands often meant nothing good. In any case, maybe it was better to sit still for a moment, at least as long as she focused on him.

"That's better, dear. My, look at your hair." Gently, she ruffled through the unkempt strands. "You need a haircut. It's so long. And how nice and dark it has become." Gabe looked around her, at his brother, then at her. His brown head seemed pretty light to him, compared to his mother's almost black curls. However, as he didn't say anything, she turned back to the book, her fingertip following the words she read out to them.

For a minute or two, his eyes traced the written lines. He already knew the story. In the end, God would tell Abraham not to kill his son. She had read the story to them last year. Like the story from the week before. He wanted to read something new, but she didn't want to hear anything of it. Without a sound, only his lips moving, he counted the books resting on the shelf in front of him. At least two times ten.

"Gabe, stop rocking with your chair," the woman chided gently. "You always liked reading with me. Look at your brother, he pays attention." Again, she reached for his head, but before she could touch him, he jumped from his chair.

"He is stupid!" he cried, sticking his tongue out.

"I am not!" Mike protested, but when his twin laughed, he laughed, too.

"You are dumb!" Grinning mischievously, Gabe sprinted to his brother's chair and tried to knock both – boy and chair – over.

"You are silly," the twin retorted and was about to leap at him, but his mother caught him in the movement.

"Gabriel, Michael! Stop this nonsense!" They failed to notice the alarmed tone in her voice. How should they know that she was afraid a by-passing neighbor might hear the high-pitched yells of two over-excited, five years old boys? But Gabe only gave a triumphant shriek when she tried to catch him with one arm while she struggled to keep hold of the wriggly Mike.

Ignoring the pain in his legs, the small boy darted across the room and climbed over the backseat of the sofa. A second later he had buried himself under a pile of white cushions. He thought it funny that they had the same flowery pattern like the big, bulky furniture. Hiding under them was like being invisible. Only that his brother had disappeared from his view was something he didn't like. But the pillows and the sofa, they were soft and warm, and they smelled good.

"I wanna sleep here!" he suddenly declared, not seeing his mother's sad smile.

"Gabriel, baby, you already have a bed, you can't sleep here," she explained, hugging the other twin who still tried to escape her embrace.

"I wanna! This is nicer. The bed is cold and stupid. I sleep here!" His sulky voice was muffled as he had pulled a pillow over his face.

"Well..." She swallowed hard and patted her other son's hair. "If you want to... you can sleep here from now on. But it's not big enough for the two of you... Michael will sleep in your room. But you probably are big enough to sleep alone, and you can see each other in the morning..."

At these words, a disheveled head emerged from behind the sofa, the eyes wide open and terrified.

"NO!" As quick as he had run away from his mother, he was back, pulling at his brother's arm. Finally, Mike had freed himself, not even realizing he had kicked her by accident, and before she could say another word, the twins hung around each other's necks. No way that one of them would leave the other alone at night, and certainly not in the basement.

Giving a sigh of relief, she stood up and joined them in their hug. For the first time since their arrival she was glad she had to hide two children instead of only one. Sometimes, their closeness was convenient. An only-child could have given her more trouble. Still – at moments like this she felt like she wasn't even welcome in their own separate world. She probably only had to give them food and clean clothes now and then, and they wouldn't even miss her much. The thought broke her heart, but she didn't want to spoil their few, happy hours together - when she could actually be their mother - with sinister ideas. It was silly anyway, to be jealous of her own little children. She inhaled deeply, and put a happy smile on her face.

"What do you think, my darlings? You both sit down on the couch, I'll make you a snack, and we watch TV together?" Shrill cries of excitement were the answer and before she could tell them to keep their voices down, the two boys had jumped on the sofa, bouncing happily on the bolsters.

Shaking her head in amusement, she got back to her feet. But when she reached the kitchen door, she turned pale with fear. Abruptly, she turned around and rushed back to the table, hurriedly gathering sheets of paper, pencils and two apple cores.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Mike asked; both twins leaned against the backseat and watched her.

"The children..." she whispered and ran over to them. "Quickly, stand up, now!"

As they sensed her anxiety, they refrained from protesting or acting up.

"Here, take this, and now down with you. Don't make a noise!" She shoved the things in their arms and shoved them towards the cellar door, almost pushing them down the stairs. "Hide the paper and the pencils under Michael's bed. And be quiet!" She closed the door, leaving her puzzled children to the darkness.

Not saying anything, they did as they were told and shoved paper, bible and eaten apples under the narrow spare bed. Mike reached for Gabe's hand, and they listened.

They heard the loud voice of the man. He sounded angry.

"Don't let go!"

"Darling, you are early!" Caroline exclaimed in surprise, nervously straightening her skirt. So she was right when she thought she had heard her husband's car in the driveway. Hectically, her eyes searched the living room for any treacherous signs. If he found anything... But everything seemed to be in perfect order. 'The cushions!' Suddenly remembering how the boys had jumped on the sofa, she walked across the room in pretended casualty, and began to fluff up the pillows like it was nothing extraordinary. Just being a housewife whose work never ended. She was lucky - he didn't pay her actions any attention.

"I know I'm early," he snapped. "Bring me a drink!" Keeping her head down, she left the sofa alone and turned to the liquor cabinet, quickly preparing a drink, adding more whiskey than usual. Maybe he wouldn't notice the guilty look in her eyes when he drank a bit more this evening. Meanwhile, he had already plunked down into his armchair; his feet - still in their heavy, dark-brown leather shoes - resting on the table. She opened her mouth, but shut it again when she saw the furious expression in his face. Silently, she offered him the small silver tablet with the drink, and he snatched the glass at once, emptying it in one go. "Another!"

The second one was emptied in the same fashion, but he took more time with the third.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa and waited. After a few minutes, he began to talk, cursing his work and his boss who had given an important commission to another, in Charles' eyes incapable colleague.

"He will regret it! If not in this life, then on the day of his judgment. The Lord knows, and the Lord will punish him!" His rant didn't stop anytime soon, and his wife listened faithfully, nodding and shaking her head, whatever she thought was appropriate. Despite all the bitter feelings, she felt sorry for him. She knew he was a good man, an earnest worker, and the injustice hurt her like she had been in his place herself.

After a while, he stopped and watched the dark liquid in his glass. Caroline knew that his wrath hadn't disappeared yet. In a minute or two he would continue, probably repeat most of his speech over and over again, but one or two drinks more and he would calm down.

He put the tumbler on the table.

"Bring me one of the boys," he commanded. The unexpected coldness in his voice startled her.

"What?"

"Are you deaf, woman? Stand up, move your tiny ass, open that door and bring me one of the boys!" The pure spitefulness those words carried sent a shiver down her spine and her hands were shaking more than before.

"Why...?" she whispered.

"DO IT!" he slammed his fist on the table, almost upsetting the remains of his drink, and with a jump, Caroline stood up.


	2. Chapter 2

**As you sow, so you shall reap**

Galatians 6:7

Part 2

His frown grew even deeper when she returned, dragging two pale, miserable looking figures with her.

"What's this shit? I told you to bring one!" He rose from his chair, taking a step forward. Trembling, his wife shoved the twins between them.

"I tried, but they... I told them, but they don't let each other go." Shrugging helplessly, she pointed at the children, avoiding to look at them as much as they avoided to look at the tall, menacing men. Charles gave an impatient growl when he saw how they had dug their finger around each other's arms.

"Stop this bullshit. Caroline, separate them!"

"Come, my dears," she almost sang to them, her mind trying to ignore what she was doing and why. She was a mother, a young mother with pretty sons, a mother telling them not to eat their ice-cream too fast. Scolding them because they were playing with their food. It was fine. Everything would be fine.

But no matter how much she pulled at their arms or tried to force herself between them, they only held tighter, their short, dirty fingernails digging into white skin until the first small drops of blood trickled from the tiny wounds.

"You are as useless as those bastards," he snarled and took a step forward. Without a warning, he slapped her and she lost balance, falling to the floor with a cry. She began to weep. He, however, focused on the twins. Their thin legs stuck out from old denim shorts. The gashes from the last punishment were already healing, as he noticed with a snort of discontent, but to see them trembling satisfied him. Until he saw their faces. Pointy and pale as they were, the way they stubbornly stared at each other was irritating. Like they tried to shut themselves away from the world around them. Their thin lips were tightly pressed together, but they showed an attitude he would never allow anyone to show to him. Defiance. Obstinacy. A behavior he did not tolerate, not from those worthless beings. He seized them by their shoulders and tried to push them away from each other, but like his wife before, he failed. They didn't say anything and didn't move, yet he felt the air of persistence around them growing. A scornful growl escaped him. As suddenly as he had hit Caroline before, he slapped them. Nodding with grim approval, he noticed that the impact at least broke their eye contact. Only for a second there was a gleam of sheer fright and panic emitting from them, and something in him snapped at this sight. His mind was set – he had to see it again, he would make them look like this again. Whenever he wanted.

This time, he wouldn't try to loosen their grip. Instead, he wrapped his big, strong hand around Mike's upper arm and began to twist it. Soon he had reached the limit of the joint, and he went on, slowly, almost hearing the bones grinding against each other. The boy howled, but his hand didn't let his twin's arm go, his fingers dug even deeper into the skin. Gabriel, too, began to cry.

"Please, Michael! You must obey, he will break your arm!" their mother suddenly whimpered, watching the scene with horror. Somehow, she had to stop this. "Please, it's for your own best, listen to your father..."

For the first time after the man's return, Mike spoke, in a manner none of them had dared before.

"He is NOT our father!" the small boy cried out. The unexpected outburst, the voice surprisingly firm and angry, even stunned the man for a moment. "A father is good! A father is not happy to hurt his son! You told us, Mom! Today you _told_us!" Mike looked imploringly at her terrified face. "Michael, darling, be quiet, please..." she whispered, casting an anxious glance at her husband. But the boy had opened his mouth again. "The story, Mom! About Abraham. And God. They love their sons. They are fathers! He," the boy turned around, facing the man, his little face flushed and angry, "he isn't a father! He is the devil!"

Charles' expression became blank and he turned pale.

"What did you just say?" His voice was low and he spoke slowly – Caroline knew it too well. He was more enraged than before, and she, too, would have to suffer the consequences. Why couldn't the boy just keep quiet?

Mike sensed the change in his father, too, but couldn't really place it. He still glared at him, took a deep breath and lifted his chin. His brother still clung to him, silent and trembling as much as Mike himself.

"You are not our father, you are mean! God is everyone's father. He loves us, too! I hate you!" he yelled, putting all the pain and fright he had felt in his short life into his little, high voice. Gabe gazed at him, then at his father, and nodded, now completely hugging his twin.

Their mother averted her eyes, looking at the carpet. She couldn't bear watching her husband and her children stare at each other like that. They would regret Michael's words. All three of them. She knew it.

"Hold them," he suddenly ordered, and the twins, more a bundle of two children, almost stumbled when he pushed them into her arms. She caught them just in time before they fell to the floor. She put her arms around their shoulders.

"Charles, what are you doing?" However, he didn't react to her call and left the living room. Nervously, she listened. When she heard the bathroom door, she sighed. There was no gun in the bathroom, he wouldn't shoot them, and she relaxed a little bit, still holding the twins. Both of them remained quiet now, only occasionally sobbing; for once, not of fear, but of anger and frustration. They didn't cling so desperately to each other like a moment before, but again, they held hands. He, with all his strength and scorn, hadn't been able to separate them. The corner of Mike's mouth twitched. Today he had kept his promise. Today, for the first time in his life, he felt a strangely warm, thrilling emotion – triumph.

The bathroom door opened, and the man yelled for his wife.

"Bring them in here!"

She stood up at once, took Gabe's free hand and pulled him along. Of course, his twin followed, as she thought. There was no need to make both going, one was enough. As they came closer, she heard the discomforting sound of water, and she shuddered. Charles was filling the bathtub, and she could guess what would happen next.

Confused, Mike looked around, realizing that they had never been in this room before. Actually, they only knew their room in the basement and the living room. Even on the few opportunities when they could sneak out of their prison they had only stayed in the large, bright room with the soft carpet and the comfortable couch. They had their own little bathroom in the cellar, a narrow shower and toilet. It had always been like that; he couldn't know that their father had built it in while they were infants. So they basically had an idea what a bathroom was for, but this one looked so different. Bigger, warmer. With a big basin instead of a shower, and even here was a little carpet. And a sink like the one he had seen in the kitchen, but the same pink color like the toilet and bathtub. His mind was torn between his bewilderment caused by the differences, childlike curiosity and also amazement when he discovered more and more weird things. And tension as he watched the man as he stood at the sink, filling a cup with water.

"Darling, what are you doing?" their mother asked her husband timidly. Mike looked over his shoulder. The door had already been shut, and his mother was directly behind them, blocking the way outside anyway. So trying to make a run for it wouldn't work. He turned to his brother, who shrugged, his face showing the restlessness Mike felt. So Gabe was thinking the same. Something bad was about to happen, different from the usual beatings. That was scary.

Whether their father answered or not, Mike didn't know, he was too busy thinking of a way to escape. The courage from before was gone and he already couldn't remember how good he felt after yelling at that man. When he and Gabe looked at him again, he had just finished adding something from a dark red bottle to the water. "You can't make them drink... no, you can't poison them! Charles, this is..." their mother was just begging weakly, and they lifted their eyes. What did she mean, poison?

"Shut up, silly woman. I won't poison them. It's too hot to drink, what do you think I am, a monster?" Mike didn't understand sarcasm. He heard the words, they didn't match the way the man treated them, and they didn't match his grin. Slowly, he tried to take a step back when his father kneeled down right before him and smiled. Almost as friendly as their mother when they were alone. But so friendly that it didn't seem real and honest.

"So, boy, which one are you? Michael, right?" Like his smile, his voice was different from usual; sweet, yet not sweet the way Mike knew it. He clasped his twin's hand even tighter, trying hard to control his breath while he wondered where the strong feeling from before had gone. Now, he couldn't find it anywhere.

"So, Michael," the man continued, "you know about the Lord? Your mother has taught you about him. Isn't that fascinating! I say, it _is_fascinating, Caroline, don't you agree?" He chuckled when she answered with a low, shy "yes". "You know, Michael, she told you a lot of very important things. But you haven't understood something very important. God loves all his children, but..." All of a sudden, he laughed, raised the cup and threw its content into the boy's face.

Mike gave a shrill cry of pain as the steaming hot liquid burnt on his skin and in his eyes. He staggered against his mother's legs, spitting when he tasted the bitter flavor of aftershave on his tongue. Tears ran down his cheeks and vigorously, he rubbed his eyes and face. With both hands.

"MIKE!" The panic-stricken shriek made him realize what he had done.

"Hold him!" the man bellowed and his wife followed at once, seizing Mike by his shoulders just when he was about to jump at his father. Gabe was struggling against the man's firm grip around the tiny waist, but the grown-up didn't even need to use much of his strength to hinder him from any escape.

"Listen, Michael." Unimpressed by the shouts and cries, he spoke on, like a father explaining his child how a car works. "It is true that the Lord loves all his children. He loves me. He loves the mailman. He even loves your mother. But you, you are not his children." Gabe's yells stopped abruptly when his head was pushed under water for the first time. He tried to breathe, swallowed more water and coughed, kicking with both his arms and legs. But the strong hand held him down easily.

"GABE! What are you doing, leave him alone!" His face felt hot and red and his eyes were still teary from the mixture, and he didn't comprehend what was happening. But not hearing his brother's voice and only seeing his limbs fighting against the man's hold was horrifying. Something bad happened, but he couldn't do anything to help his twin.

"CHARLES! You can't drown him in hot water, are you..." Caroline cried, too, yet she didn't move or let go of her son.

"Shut up! Don't be foolish, it's not hot. And see!" He pulled the boy up by his hair, holding his face in their direction, like a hunter would present his game. "The water is ice cold and your son alive, satisfied? How are you, boy?" With a grin, he grabbed Gabe's shaking chin and made the boy face him. "All good?" Gabe didn't answer. His throat and chest were hurting badly with every breath he took, but he inhaled as deeply as possible. With quivering lips, he sobbed. "Mike..."

"Rude brat, no manners at all." Again, he pushed the child's face under water, even longer this time.

The brother could only stand and stare, sobbing as he heard the splashes from his twin's struggles. Although he couldn't grasp the concept of drowning – whatever had happened to them so far, as painful as it was, there was never something like drowning – he sensed it was bad and dangerous. The look of his brother's face was scary. Scary and terrifying, and he felt how his own throat became tight.

"Darling, please..." was all their mother said, and her husband ignored her. Just when the intervals of the kicks had become longer, he pulled the boy up again.

"Look at this, Michael. Do you see him?" This time, all defiance had vanished from Mike's face and eyes. He felt so weak, like he was about to die. The absent-minded, pale face of his brother scared him. He nodded. Anything, if he could only stop this.

"God doesn't love things like this. He is no child of the Lord. You are no child of the Lord. Nobody loves you." He forced the boy under water and drew him out again. "You are bad," he shouted into the ear of the heavily panting child. "You are disgusting. You are not to be loved. Do you understand, Gabriel? You are not to be loved, not by anyone, and you will stay under water until your dear brother understands that, too. It's his fault."

"I understand!" Mike cried out. Anything. But his brother didn't hear him. Sobs mixed with Gabe's desperate gasps for air, his chest moved too fast, his lungs and throat felt sore. The world around the little boy became blurry and when he coughed, water spurted from his nose. Bad. Disgusting. Hated. Mike's fault. His belly hurt, and then, he couldn't hold back anymore. With the next violent sob, the contents from his stomach forced their way outside and, as he still hung limp in his father's grip, he threw up. The bitter tasting mass blocked his nose and made breathing harder than before. He spitted and panted heavily while the sharp smelling liquid ran down his chin and splashed into the water. "Gross," the man only stated. "Do you see this, Mike? What your behavior did to this one? So filthy." And again, Gabe's face was forced downwards, again he swallowed water, now mixed with his own vomit. 'Help me.'

"I said it! I understand! Stop!"

His head became light. He thought he heard his brother's voice, but no words. 'Why don't you help me?'

"I don't know." The man shrugged. "You belong to the devil, so you probably are lying."

"I don't! Please!" He couldn't hear his brother anymore. No struggle, no splashing water. More tears flowed from his eyes, but they didn't affect the man anymore than his pleas or sobs. He had forgotten about his mother. She stood still and remained silent.

"Then say it again so I can believe you. Say it to his face." The man shook the boy violently once he had gotten his head out of the water. Mike gulped at the sight. Like a wet, white doll his twin hung there, his shirt sticking to his skinny body. Water was running from his nose and unlike before, his chest was only heaving very slowly.

"Gabe..." He swallowed hard again. But at least his brother's eyelids fluttered, and finally, he could see the familiar blue eyes again. This made it easier. And yet not. Even his young mind understood that the things that were happening were cruel, and now he learned that words could hurt very much, too.

"Too slow." He was about to lower the limp, pathetic figure once more, but finally, Mike could free himself from his mother's hands. He darted forward, reaching for his brother. "NO!"

"Stay where you belong, filthy creature!" Mike didn't see the kick coming, and the shoe hit him hard in his stomach. With a whimper, he collapsed on the tiles.

"So, what are you?" the man demanded impatiently, shaking the boy he held in his hand.

"Bad. We are bad. And... disgusting..." His cheeks were bright red, burning with humiliation and still irritated from before. The floor was cold.

"Mike..."

Mike wanted to scream when he heard his name. His twin's voice was so weak, he wasn't even sure if Gabe had really said it or if Mike just wished he did.

"And? Hurry, before he goes diving again."

The small boy lifted his head, his gaze fixed on his brother's half-opened eyes. "Gabe? You hear me? He's right. Nobody loves us, not mom, not God." He thought he saw him blink, but maybe he was mistaken. "We are not to be loved..." he finished, suddenly feeling too exhausted to worry or think about what the man wanted him to do. "We are not to be loved." Repeating it was not hard anymore.

"Good! Why did it take so long? Poor Gabriel. You could have been with your brother so much sooner. Too bad Michael didn't care enough. How sad it is, to be one of those not to be loved. Take them away." Effortlessly, he lifted the little boy out of the tub and dropped him on the floor, next to his brother. Mike crawled over to the still figure, threw his arm around him and cradled him as tightly as he could. He shivered – his twin's body was colder than the water that dripped from his hair and clothes. And he smelled weird, but that was not important. Mike could hear Gabe's low, weak whimpers. He would be alright. Just sleeping, and he would be alright again.

"I love you, my angels..."

His mother's words, once the man was gone. However, they bore no comfort; it didn't even feel right that she was still there. Mike wanted her to go away. But instead, she wrapped his brother in a towel, took him into her arms and patted his hair. "Don't worry, my Gabriel. Everything will be fine. Mommy loves you so much. Daddy loves you so much. You are our little angel..." Hearing her sing to his twin was weird and he felt how his stomach began to hurt as he watched her leaving the room, not even looking at him. Quickly, he stood up and hurried after them.

Now, the whole evening was like a bad nightmare. Both their minds were still processing what had happened, and parts of the cruel memories were already fading. An act of mercy by their subconscious, trying to shield two little children as much as possible. But no matter how unreal the cruelty of that man felt – now that they had returned to their basement, Gabe being cleaned and dried by his mother, and now, both huddled together under the blanket – the feeling of horror just didn't want to disappear.

"Mike... I know what dying is like," the younger twin suddenly whispered, like he had forgotten about their argument and his accusations. "It's blurry and hurt ins the chest. And it's wet," he explained with a calm, earnest voice.

"I died, too," Mike answered. He remembered how his throat had tightened and how difficult breathing had become when he had to see what was done to his twin.

"I died worse." Nothing but a simple statement. "I want to die again."

"Why?"

"You die, too, and when the pain stops, we can go to the other place together."

Mike thought about that. It seemed convincing, and their mother had told them that dead people go away to the other place. But then, she had also said that she and God loved them. And that was a lie, so the other place was probably a lie, too. Maybe they wouldn't be able to go together after all.

"I don't want you to die," he finally said. "I want _him_to die. When I'm bigger, I'll beat him until he dies. You'll see! Hey, what are you doing?" he exclaimed when something wet touched his cheek. Gabe giggled. "You taste like salt. You are crying. Crybaby!"

"Am not!" Quickly, he licked over his brother's cheek. Wet and salty, too. "_You_are a crybaby!" They laughed and giggled together until the tears stopped. Mike pulled his brother as close as he could; finally some warmth returned to the fragile body. He was already half-asleep when Gabe spoke again.

"You are right. To die is not fun."

_Fall, 1951_

"Gabriel, darling, stop pulling at the carpet, you will tear a hole into it," their mother warned the young boy, not for the first time during the last few minutes, and her voice grew less soft. "And hold still!" she added, now clearly annoyed when she almost cut into his ear. Carefully, she moved the blades of the scissors along his temple. "Michael, get away from the window. Sit still, I said!" Being more and more unnerved, she turned his head back in its prior position.

"He wants to watch TV," Mike stated absent-mindedly. He had followed his mother's word and moved away from the window, but he was still staring outside. Like his brother, he had grown lately, and could look over the windowsill without climbing on a chair. Or the sill itself. From where he stood, he saw another house, the fence between, a bit of the garden. But the most interesting sight was the small part of the street. In summer, a row of bushes and trees had blocked his view, but by now, brown and bright yellow leaves had fallen from the branches, building a colorful cover over the gray sidewalk. Sometimes, other people went by, tall like his parents and those he had seen in TV shows, some smaller, more like him and his brother. A young boy just passed by, with a four-legged creature. A dog, as Mike remembered from a TV show and one of the picture books their mother had given them about a year ago. The other child seemed to speak with the dog, and the way he smiled, he had apparently a good time. Mike shrugged. Never having seen other living beings but his parents and his brother, he didn't understand what was so great about dogs. They looked strange; what was it good for to walk on four legs? But he liked the teeth. Yes, he really wished he had teeth like the big neighbor's dog, then he could tear their father to pieces like nothing.

"I'm sorry, angel, no TV, not anymore." Her mood had changed. Now mellow and gentle, she hugged Gabriel from behind and kissed his cheek. Mike watched the little scene, feeling weird about it, but certainly not in the slightest envying his brother for the sudden tenderness he received. Obviously, Gabe wasn't very happy about it, too. He squirmed, stretched his throat as long as he could, turning away from her. "You smell strange again," Mike explained as a matter of fact, and his twin nodded. "And he thinks that your eye is funny, because it looks like his," he continued after catching a glimpse of Gabe's face – although it showed a disgusted expression, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"You are very rude boys. Wait until your father returns! I'm sorry, dear!" The harshness changed to her old softness within seconds and she embraced her son even tighter. "Don't be afraid, dear, I won't tell him, I promise." Mike withstood the sudden urge to pull her away from his twin. Over the last months, her behavior towards them had become different. In the past, the few hours they had spent with her had been fun and warm. She had made them food, read books together and every now and then, they had been allowed to watch TV.

Not that the time upstairs was always unpleasant now. But he would have preferred to spend them without her. And sometimes, when she changed from nice to unfriendly and back all the time like today, he was even relieved once they were back to their basement. At least he could talk with his twin when they were alone. During the last year, Gabe had become quieter and quieter whenever their mother or the man were around. He still talked to his brother - although not as much as he used to - but after a while, he had stopped completely when they weren't alone. Yet Mike never had problems to understand his twin's thoughts, so it had become kind of a habit that he talked in his name. Most of the time they were thinking the same anyway; therefore, he didn't mind. Only the way their mother reacted since Gabe stayed silent with her irritated him at first. All this hugging and kissing, the kind words, even treats, his brother received from her. It didn't make sense to him – she sometimes seemed to forget that he was there, too. However, it didn't take him long to realize that his brother was more annoyed with her behavior than happy.

So all that remained when he watched them was a mix of mild annoyance and the impulse to tell her to leave him alone. But he had given up on telling anyone that. It always made things worse for Gabe. And he would never forgive that she _had _told tales once. His tongue felt along his front teeth. Gabe had turned to his brother and flinched in his direction as she had buried her head in his soft hair, silently weeping. The quick grimace revealed two tooth spaces. Stupid, lying woman. She had told him they had knocked over and broken one of her tea cups. His chain of thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the ring of the telephone. Immediately, their mother jumped up, almost dragging the young boy with her, who finally managed to escape her hug. She stopped and looked sceptically at Gabe. Then she seized a book from the shelf and put it down on his lap. "Here, darling, be good." Gabe shrugged indifferently and started looking through the pages. Mike was ignored, but he didn't mind. He usually didn't care much... maybe she knew that, maybe not... it didn't make a difference.

"Yes, Mom, no, I'm alright. Yes, really, just a little cold." Slightly, she slurred her speech, and was still sniffling. "No, of course, I pay attention to my health." She had returned, dragging the telephone cord after her, and smiled. Not at the children, but at the bottle of the table. Holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she opened the bottle and refilled her glass as she spoke on. Nothing out of the ordinary these days. Bored, Mike had turned away before she had left the room again. A look at Gabe told him that his brother was already absorbed in the book. Pulling a face at his back, Mike walked back to the window and stared outside, thinking of last week. Again, it had only been his fault, he hadn't paid attention, but still...

"So, Michael, you played with my belongings, and broke them?" During the last two years, they didn't always understand why they were punished. Sometimes, the man found a reason, but most of the times, it simply happened. On days like this, they knew it would be extremely bad. They – that is, Mike – had given him a reason, and the man was delighted about it. In those moments, his scorn didn't descent on them like a thunderstorm, and it was not as quickly over. Sitting in his chair in a comfortable position, the legs stretched out, an amused smile on his face – this, and the occasional flashes of joyous anticipation, all these things told them that a long night awaited them.

"Come over here," he demanded, but not from the older twin. Again, it would be Gabe who had to expect whatever sick and painful ideas the man had come up with. Of course Mike, too, received his share of most of these things, but always it was his twin who suffered more. If the man didn't find anything to blame Mike for, they could be sure he would come up with something. This evening, the boy himself had offered him another opportunity. His demeanor made it impossible to miss the gleefulness. Mike was angry. He had never forgotten Gabe's pale, silent face from the last time Mike had talked back to his father. From that day on, he had avoided provoking him. Yet, for the first time since two years ago, he couldn't swallow his anger any longer. He seized his brother's shoulder and pulled him back, taking a step forward in his place. "It was my fault, not his, ya got it? And I don't give a fuck about your belongings!" he declared as firmly as he could with his shaking voice. Expecting his father to lose his temper now and be over with it, the boy took a deep breath, ready to face whatever might happen to him for the insolence he dared to show. But he was mistaken – the man didn't yell at him. All he did was stare at the young boy who fought hard to keep his glare steady. Mike began to count the seconds passing. 29...30...31... Lost with the numbers, the large fist smashing against his face hit him out of the blue. His eyesight failed him for a few seconds – bright, white light flashing through his head blinded him. Until a foot kicked his ribcage, he hadn't even realized he had fallen onto the carpet. The air was pressed out of his lungs, and he gasped, giving a low, pained whimper. "Stop whining! And speak proper English in my house!" The loud voice right next to his ear startled him. More a reflex than thinking, Mike turned around, his small fists raised, and he hit the man's face. The impact was not very strong, but the angle unfortunate – with a scornful, glowering cry, the man covered his face. Blood dropped from between his fingers.

"Fucking bastard, he broke my nose! And a tooth!" he cursed with a weird, nasal lisp, causing more blood to spout out of his nose. It sounded so unlike him. Mike, still dizzy from the blow before, didn't catch much of it, but unfortunately, Gabe did. And giggled. Horrified, Mike tried to warn him, to tell him to shut up, but his lungs hadn't fully recovered yet – and it was too late anyway. The young boy could only watch through blurred eyes how his twin was punched in the belly by a bloody fist. "Woman! Get me my fucking toolbox!" he bellowed, and she hurried out of the room. "NO! The small one lying in the kitchen, not the garage, silly goose!"

When she returned, Mike had just recovered enough to get back on his knees. Still holding his side, he slowly crawled towards his twin. He only saw the man's wide back, and Gabe's legs kicking under him. Their father had pinned the boy down with his knees. "Get away from him!" he more croaked than shouted, gritted his teeth and stood up. Taking one, two swaying steps, he jumped forward, leaping at his father, and drummed with his fists on the man's back. "Stop!" He was still too small. Seven years of fear, pain and seething rage still weren't enough to achieve anything against the man. Unimpressed, he shook the boy off like he was nothing more than a beetle. Once more, Mike hit the floor - this time, he landed next to his brother, but not close enough to touch him. When he tried to sit up and crawl forward again, his mother suddenly sat behind him and held him by his arm. "Mom!" he implored, close to tears. "Be quiet, Michael, you've talked enough today," was all she had to say. She smelled bad again... too much of her "medicine". Her voice sounded like she didn't realize what was going on. But her grip was still strong enough to stop him from getting away. As so often before, all that was left for him to do was watching helplessly. Terrified, he saw his father's right hand around Gabe's lower jaw, the strong fingers pressing the joints, forcing the mouth open. His twin's hands hit against the arm, trying in vain to push him away. Not hasting for only a moment, his father picked a pair of flat tongs from the small toolbox, lifting it to the boy's forcefully parted lips.

Despite the man's whizzing breath and grunts, despite Gabe's shrill cry, Mike thought he could hear the disgusting, grinding sound when one small, white tooth was slowly pulled out. His twin coughed and Mike's stomach turned – it was too much like the choking, gargling breaths from that day Gabe had almost been drowned in the bathtub. Thick blood mixed with saliva flowed from the corner of the boy's mouth and ran along his face, dripping on the white carpet. The tooth was dropped to the floor, but their father had already raised the tool again. His distorted grin mirrored the relish he felt when he, even slower than before, twisted and pulled at a second tooth. This time, Gabe was quiet, and Mike was forced to listen to the noise, like stone grinding on stone, and the metallic smell of blood filled his nose. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The tooth along with the tongs were thrown aside, and with a satisfied grin, their father stood up. Carefully, he felt for his lips. "The bastard is lucky, I think it was only a nosebleed and a chapped lip after all." He walked back to his chair and sat down, not paying any more attention to the boys.

At first, Mike thought Gabe was unconscious. But then, his twin turned his head and gazed straight at him through teary eyes, his small chest heaving rapidly. Half of the small face was smeared with blood, the half-opened mouth quivering from the pain. Maybe it was only his imagination, but Mike was sure his brother blamed him. "Still thinking it was a good idea to defy me, bastard?" Mike lifted his gaze when his father sneered at him. The glee had returned to the man's face and he smiled maliciously at the boy. Reluctantly, Mike shook his head.

"Take them downstairs and make me a drink, woman. And don't forget to clean this mess up. I don't want to buy a new carpet because of those things."

In the end it had been Mike, who had carried his brother downstairs. Under the amused eyes of their father, their mother had gone to the kitchen, brought a bucket of water and started to scrub the blood out of the carpet frenetically. Nobody had said another word to the twins or paid any more attention to them. Certainly nobody helped them. So Mike had shouldered his brother and dragged him out of the room and down the stairs, almost tripping over his own feet. Gabe had been awake, but neither moved nor spoken. The wounds had healed quickly – they had looked worse than they were, however, the twin hadn't spoken for three days, even not to Mike.

Sighing, the older twin stared at his hands. Small scars, almost vanished bruises. Although the days had been rather peaceful since the night Gabe had lost his first two teeth, the beatings had never stopped. Mike looked at his wrists. Especially on the right one was a large, dark mark, the skin over his knuckles scraped. Two days ago, he had been called, went upstairs, only to be pushed back immediately. Nothing special, a regular treatment. Fortunately, his arm had covered his fall. By now, he had to admit, his curiosity about the rooms upstairs had almost vanished. Their room might be less nice and a lot darker and colder, but apparently, it was the safest place in the world for them. The man rarely came downstairs. If he only stopped torturing Gabe, life could actually be bearable. And if the nightmares would stop. Dreams of darkness, only filled with the sounds of beaten flesh, ripping skin and exploding skulls – smacking, tearing, cracking. Of cries that were neither his nor his brother's.

His own, sudden scream brought him back from the depths of his silent thoughts. Pain emitted from his leg through his whole body, and he already felt blood wetting his skin and running down his calve. He turned around – and faced his twin. Wide-opened, dreamy eyes watched him with mild astonishment.

"Does it hurt?" the boy whispered, sounding surprised. Mike followed his brother's gaze and looked at his own leg. The scissors - the ones their mother had used to trim their hair – had been thrust into his upper leg, right were the shorts ended, half sticking out of the flesh. He flinched with pain when he touched it, not able to pull it out. With one hand, he held firmly to the windowsill. "Of course this hurts, dumbass! Why did you do that?" he pressed through his teeth. Then he saw his brother's own leg. Blood flowed from a fresh wound and already dripped on the carpet. "Gabe... No! Stop that!" he shouted when his twin reached for the metallic tool. "Gabe, _why_?" Why would his brother do something like that? Gabe's voice was so unnervingly calm... it was creepy. "When he hit me yesterday, I didn't feel it. I mean, I did, but I didn't _feel_it. The fist hit my face, it burnt. I felt it did. But the pain stayed. And suddenly, it was gone." The blue gaze suddenly became focused. "Mike, I'm scared." The bitterness in the last few words made his anger disappear. He bit on his lip, seized the handle of the scissors, and pulled them out in one go. More blood streamed from the reddish hole. "Don't be scared. You just getting' used to it. Maybe you stop being such a crybaby," he weakly teased him. "But _this_did hurt?" Gabe nodded. "Yeah. A lot. But... I like. I don't know being hit and not having pain. But this I knew. And I like. Thought you would, too. But..." His small, thin face looked oddly grave and disappointed when he continued. "You did not like, do you, Mike?"

The older twin snorted, almost laughed. He didn't know what he could do otherwise. He wasn't even sure what his brother was talking about. Probably, Gabe wasn't either. But his leg surely hurt. "I don't see how you like _that_. Doesn't he hurt you enough? Do you need more?" The sad, desperate flash in his brother's eyes made him regret his words at once. Looking away, he searched for something that he could press on Gabe's and his legs to make the bleeding stop. The other twin's voice now was so low, he almost didn't hear him. "Hurts differently. Like comfort. Looked at the blood, _my_blood. _I _did that, all alone!" Gabe finished, oddly proud. "I'm sorry, Mike, you didn't like it. I'm sorry I also liked to..." Before Mike learned what else his brother was sorry for, a shrill yell from behind interrupted them. "MICHAEL! GABRIEL! OH MY GOD! What are you doing?"

Their mother had returned from the kitchen after a long talk with her mother. And the first thing she saw now were the twins, both their legs covered in blood. A red puddle had already formed on the carpet. She couldn't comprehend the situation; she only knew she would have to clean up the mess before his return. That, and that Mike was holding a pair of scissors, the tip red, and pointing at the other twin. "GABRIEL!" Hurriedly, she rushed to her younger son and hugged him. With one hand, she snatched the scissors from Mike's hand. "BASTARD!" she shouted, "What are you doing, you little... you devil..." Shocked, the boy stared at her.

Yes, she sometimes was angry with them. But this disgusted tone he – he had experienced that only with their father. The seething, hot anger in his body became stronger and flared up. Yet, "SHUT UP!" was all he could manage to hurl at her. As amazed as he was a second before, she now looked at him, bewildered by the surprising force such a young, little voice could contain. Both, mother and son, glared at each other for a moment, then she began to cry. "I love you, I love both of you, you are my angels. Why do you destroy my life? Why? I was so happy before you came. I love you... I gave you all I have, but you..." Gabe, grossed out by his mother's closeness, pushed her away, and flew to his brother's side, hugging him dearly, as if he was looking for protection. "You, too, Gabriel? What have I done wrong? Why do I deserve this?" Sobbing uncontrollably, she covered her face with her hands and cried. They could smell the red liquid she was fond of so much lately coming from her. The words only confused them. What had they done? The wounds? Mike didn't understand. Why did she cry when she said she loved them? He loved his twin, and that didn't make him cry. And Gabe neither. He didn't like that man, and cried because of him. Although not that often anymore. His young mind couldn't connect her words with her actions, and not with what he felt when he looked at her in moments like this. Finally, he shrugged. This was weird, Mike wanted to leave. Right on cue, Gabe's nose softly nudged against his cheek. "Okay, come." Together they limped back to the cellar door, helping each other to descend without falling. Once downstairs, they would treat their wounds and wait. Until the flesh healed. And until the door opened again. With a sigh, he looked at his twin. 'Why can't I understand all her talking when I understand you so easily?' he thought. When Gabe shrugged and smiled at him, Mike smiled back.

"What are they talking about?"

"Psst!" Gabe sat behind the door, listening. They had expected their father to come for them once he returned. After all, they had – again – ruined his carpet. The old bloodstains from two weeks ago were still visible. Musingly, Mike scratched the bandage that now covered his leg. This was strange. Normally, he would already have been here. Or would have sent their mother to get them. Even if that man would think of another way to punish them, he should at least be shouting. But – nothing, and not good at all. The longer they would wait, the more time he would have to think of something really nasty. After a while, they heard them speak in their normal voices. Growing impatient, Gabe had finally sneaked the stairs up and cowered – careful not to make a noise – as close as possible to the door, his ear pressed against the wood. A few minutes later, Mike was so restless, he had to hold back or he would have jumped from his bed, climbed the stairs and pushed his brother away from the door. Suddenly, it was Gabe who jumped and hurried back to Mike. Throwing himself on the same bed his brother sat on, Gabe pulled the cover over his body and faced the wall. Not a second too quick – only a moment later the door opened, and both – their mother and their father – were joining them, looking thoughtfully. However, even now the attack they had thought unavoidable did not happen. Instead, the man only circled the beds, took hold of the frame and shook. He nodded at his wife who followed the signal and went upstairs again, closing the door behind her.

"And? Do you hear me or not?"

The twins looked at each other. It was unusual to hear his normal voice, without rage or mockery. They were even more puzzled when he spoke on, talking about nothing of importance, only commenting on today's dinner and what he wanted her to cook tomorrow. All of a sudden, he raised his voice, yet not against them. "DO YOU HEAR ME, WOMAN?" The door opened, and she returned. "I heard you, but only when I stood close to the door, and I didn't understand what you said. Not until you shouted, I heard that very clear," she answered in her usual, meek manner. He shook his head. "This won't do then. Well, I know what we have to do." That was all. The pair left again without even looking at the children, and of course, the twins didn't dare to ask. Finally, they were alone again.

"Hey, what was this all about?" Mike gave his twin's shoulder a nudge. "What did they say?"

Gabe turned around and looked up at his brother. "Couldn't understand much. Something about someone coming. And he doesn't want that, but doesn't want that without a warning, too... something like that," he reported what he had overheard and shrugged, his face mirroring the blank expression of his brother's. Very odd. Anyway, in the end, nothing good would come out of it, not for them. They knew that much for sure.

The next few days were peaceful, actually just the way the twins preferred them. They didn't mind much that they had been locked into the basement without being allowed to go upstairs. Their mother brought them food, checked their injuries or brought new bandages for later use. She never stayed long or talked much with them, and rarely visited them more than two or three times a day. Only occasionally, she petted their hair or gave Gabe a quick hug.

By the end of the week, she looked changed. Her breath didn't smell and her hair was nicely trimmed. In the evening, she visited them again; this time, he was with her. The twins knew that the last, calm days wouldn't last long and were just the quiet before the storm. To their own surprise, they felt almost relaxed. The waiting was the worst. Whatever would happen now, it would be over in an hour or two and they could go back to their own little, dark world. They kept quiet and sat still when their father stood in front of them and inspected their faces. "Michael, go to your own bed," he ordered, his voice telling them more than his words that he wouldn't allow any backtalk. Reluctantly, Mike did as he was told. The mattress was hard compared to the other one, but after all, it wasn't a surprise. It was warmer to share one bed, and less lonely. His eyes followed his father's hands, expecting them to rise against his brother anytime. He felt more and more anxious when it didn't happen.

At a quick command, their mother handed her husband a collar and a leash, similar to that he had seen around the dog's neck. The collar was roughly fastened around his twin's neck, a bit too tight at first and the boy gasped for air. To Mike's surprise, their father loosened it a bit. Then he pushed the boy back on the bed. "Lie still." Gabe obeyed. The man attached the leash to the grate of the bedhead. "Sit up," he barked, and the boy tried, but the short range hindered him. "Good so far. Lie still," he repeated the second-last command and seized Gabe's hands and pulled them over the boy's head. Gabe turned to his brother, scared. Mike could see his twin was about to cry for help.

'Don't move. Don't scream.' His lips formed the words without making a sound, but his twin understood and closed his eyes. Their father continued with the legs, tying them to the opposite end of the bed. After that, he walked over to Mike, repeating the procedure with the older twin. Only that Mike now didn't have someone to look at for comfort. His arms and legs were stretched out in their full length and he was unable to move them. The leash left just enough range to turn his head. When their father didn't block the space between the two beds, he could see his twin, who stared back at him. "Mike..." was the only spoken word. 'Will he kill us?' was what Mike could read from his brother's face. He shook his head, hoping he was right. After speaking a few short words with their mother, the man returned, placing himself between the boys again. He watched Mike's face and grinned. Then he covered the boy's eyes with a piece of duct tape.

Not prepared to be short of his eyesight, unable to see his twin, Mike thrashed around, pulling at the ropes. "Mike, what's happening?" Hearing his brother call out for him, Mike wanted to shout back, but before he could, another piece of tape sealed his mouth. He was about to panic, trying desperately to loosen the bounds, even screamed. But the knots were strong and his voice couldn't leave his mouth. His own blood rushing through his head deafened him. "Go on like this and you will strangle yourself."

'Calm down!' whispered a very small and weak part of his mind. He had to. Forcing himself to breathe evenly again, he tried to relax. From that moment on, all he could do was listen, and pray to the god their mother had once told them so much about. Pray that nothing horrible would happen to his twin while he wasn't even able to help him afterwards. He heard how his twin put up a similar fight, being cut short in the end when he called Mike's name. The older twin couldn't stop trembling, with fear and with rage. He knew that his brother felt like he did right now, and he wanted to hurt the man so badly. For all the pain he had caused, and for taking away the only thing they had in this life – each other. Footsteps echoed through the basement when the pair left; he heard how the light switch was turned off. Neither the father nor the mother had bothered to cover the boys's bodies. Still wearing their shorts and t-shirts, the cold soon made them shiver. Hopefully, this would be over in an hour or two, or at least tomorrow. After the first hour, his back began to hurt, and the ropes painfully cut into the skin of his wrists and ankles. Unable to move and ignoring the pain as much as he could, he focused on the sound of his twin's tensed breathing.

"Is this really necessary, Charles?"

"I told you it is. Stop complaining. After all, it's because of your mother. How long did you say she wanted to stay?" He sat down in his favorite chair and had already put on his reading glasses. She put a glass of cognac on the small table standing next to him. "She said something about a week. Maybe longer if I need her..."

"Well then, it's easy, isn't it?" Picking up a book, he leaned back, putting his feet on the coffee-table. "If you feel sorry for those bastards, make a good impression. And do something about the stains on the carpet if you don't want her to stay until Easter next year."


	3. Chapter 3

**As you sow, so you shall reap**

Galatians 6:7

Part 3

"Please! Please stay quiet! Don't scream or kick!" Her nervous words weren't even necessary.

The twins had long ago lost track of the time. Lying on their beds, unable to move, listening to the occasional creaking of the beds whenever they shifted their weight and the sounds of breathing were all they could do. The first few hours Mike could also hear his brother crying. Although it hurt and enraged him that he, again, wasn't able to do anything, he was comforted – at least his twin didn't have to endure anything worse. At first, he had tried to free himself, but he only hurt himself more. Even when he had tried to lift his head, the movement was restricted. With every pull, the collar tightened more around his neck, cutting off his breath.

Unable to gasp for air through his mouth, his lungs ran out of oxygen quickly. Forced to keep control if he wanted to stay alive and conscious, Mike tried to calm down and relax as much as possible. His mind soon became clear again. From the bed next to him, he heard his brother struggling as he did. The short, shallow gasps, the muffled cries – so this was how he had sounded a moment before. Feeble grunts was all he had as a substitute for warning or comforting words. Fortunately, they reached him, and Gabe soon stopped thrashing around. Both of them lay still from that moment on, engulfed by darkness. The joints of his overstretched arms ached as terribly as his spine, and Mike felt how blood dried where the rope had dug too deep into his wrists. Black clouds darkened his mind and he wished he would simply fall asleep. But he couldn't. He was too afraid not to hear his brother breathe. Besides, the pain prevented him from sleeping, too. Whenever he didn't focus his thoughts on his twin, he saw his father's grinning face. The grimace had imprinted itself into his inner eye and appeared as soon as his tired brain relaxed.

Sometimes, he thought he heard voices coming from the room behind the closed door. He could clearly hear footsteps when they passed - half hoping someone would finally come for them, half hoping nobody would open it. And make everything worse than it already was. However, he missed the sounds at night. Although the basement was usually dark and cold, he had never felt scared. But without the comforting warmth of his brother and his eyesight, it was different. Suddenly, there were noises he had never heard before, creaking wood, a weird, humming sound coming from the ceiling. The tap in their small bathroom wasn't completely closed. For a while, he had counted the drops of water splashing on the surface of the sink.

67...68...69... Sometimes, Gabe would panic and start struggling again. Mike waited until his brother calmed down.

85...86... He lost the rhythm when the weather changed outside and raindrops pattered against the boarded up cellar window. The wind howled around the corners and rattled at bushes and other things outside. He didn't know what was there, but he heard it. Suddenly, he saw a shadow moving over the ceiling. Startled, he called his brother's name. But when the muffled, pathetic sound died in his throat, he remembered. He could neither speak nor see – after all, he had only fallen asleep for a few seconds. Maybe longer. Another, sudden noise scared him, then he realized it was his own stomach grumbling. His mouth felt dry and swallowing became more difficult. They were used to hunger and thirst, but usually, their mother brought them something every day. He had no idea how long they had been lying there, and how much longer they would have to wait. When the voices and footsteps returned, he felt a bit better. Even when he couldn't understand the words, so the randomness gave his mind something to think of. Later, when the sounds had died away again, he continued counting the water drops. Without any interrupting rain he had to start over several times whenever he reached 100.

He had no idea if it was night or morning when their mother came. Yes, she warned them to keep still, but it was needless. At first, she had removed the tape from Mike's mouth and even when he wanted to speak, his throat was too dry. The cold, electrical light blinded him again once the tape was gone from his eyes. The brightness was even more painful than the glue that pulled on his skin when it was stripped off. She removed the leash and freed his arms and legs, watching him while she impatiently waited until he sat up. His arms hurt tremendously when he slowly put them down. The bones made a weird, sickening noise like they would break any moment; the sinews in arms and legs felt like they would snap if he moved too quickly.

When he finally sat, she put a cup filled with warm water to his lips and he drank a bit, but then he shoved her hands away. "What's wrong, Michael, aren't you thirsty?" Her voice was clear and soft, like it used to be. Her eyes were filled with worry and tears – for the first time since more than a year ago he actually believed that she cared. He threw a quick glance at his still tied up brother. Gabe was pale, but he was breathing regularly, and the twitching muscles in his face told him his twin was awake. This was enough for now. He had another problem and nodded at the corner in the opposite end of the room. His mother understood and nodded, too. "Please, be quiet and hurry! When you hurry, I promise I'll take care of Gabriel once you've eaten and drank." More stumbling over his own, numb legs than walking, he scurried to the bathroom.

Once he returned, he gobbled down the buttered slices of bread she had brought and emptied the water so fast he almost choked. "Slowly, you risk to upset your stomach," she gently advised him. He already felt a lot better, his throat didn't hurt so much anymore, and his eyes had already gotten used to the light again. Only the pain in his joints and hands hadn't disappeared yet. He looked at his skinned wrists. The blood was already becoming dark. Single fibers from the rope stuck in the wound and he began to pull them out, partly opening the skin anew. "Stop that. Michael, I'm sorry, you have to lie down again, he made me promise... Please don't act up, we have to hurry. He will check later, and you know what will happen if he is not satisfied. " Both looked at the motionless, still silenced Gabe. With an unhappy sigh, Mike stretched out on his bed again, soon feeling the same strain in his muscles like before. When she put a new stripe of tape over his mouth, he suddenly sobbed, not knowing what he should feel when he saw her anxious, worn face. She, too, smiled at him. His father had smiled, too. "I will leave your eyes open so you can see your brother until I'm done. Would you like that?" He nodded carefully so the chain wouldn't choke him again. After that, she turned to his twin, who, at once, sprang up when his arms and legs were free. Being in the same state as Mike before, he couldn't stand and the motions were too fast. The younger twin collapsed over his brother. Now, both cried, and it took her mother some effort to separate them.

In the end, both children were left to the darkness once more, not so hungry and not so thirsty. Otherwise, nothing had changed and wouldn't change for two long weeks.

_A few weeks later_

Mike had stopped paying attention to the time; he didn't care if it was night or day. He had curled up on his bed, arms around himself, and stared at the wall, his back to his brother. He didn't even care anymore about the collar around his neck or the chain connecting the choker with the bed post. Sometimes, he even pulled the leash, feeling how the cold metal grew tighter around his throat. A squeaking noise followed by a hiss disturbed his brooding thoughts, but he kept ignoring it.

"How many days in a row did you leave them like this without bringing them food?" their father had asked their mother the day she finally released them. "Two full days..." was her hesitant answer. She already looked again like she did before – eyes tired, her hair untidy, and her breath smelled of alcohol. "Wonderful!" The man was in a good mood, however, both twins didn't dare to move or say something. They even didn't turn their heads to look at each other. Instead, they remained in the position they had been forced to get used to for a fortnight. Waiting until he would go away. "The old hag doesn't have a clue, it works perfectly. I think, dear Caroline, it's time for a vacation." She sighed when she stood up, and followed him upstairs. "I don't know, Charles, we can't leave them for days like that with nobody around. And what about the little one? She's too small to stay here alone. You know we can't ask the neighbors to feed her and..." They missed the rest of the conversation. As soon as the door had been closed, Mike left his bed and crawled under Gabe's blanket, huddling against the thin body. Finally, he was able to sleep peacefully.

This was almost two months ago and they hadn't seen their parents for four days. Most of the food they had left in the basement was gone, and once the small supply of water would be gone, the only source left would be the rusty pipes of the sink. The twins had no idea when they would see their mother and father again. The second day, when nobody came or called for them, they had tried to get rid of the collar and the leash. But as before, the chain would only tighten when they pulled too much. The clasps were secured with small locks and their father had, of course, taken the keys with him. As they didn't have anything at hand to pick the locks, they had finally given up. At least they had the luxury to move their legs and arms, and after their father had moved the beds closer to the bathroom corner, they could reach that easily. Otherwise, half of the basement, the part with the stairs and the window, were off-limits for them. Confined to the same place and their solitude like this, both twins soon became bored. They wished to move so badly, their feet and legs almost itched. As it was, they hardly couldn't remember how it felt to run. The last time they really had the opportunity to do more than give a jump or tip-toe around lay way in the past. Two years were a long time for them. Mike just wanted to be alone; nothing was of interest as long as he could sleep in the same bed like his brother. The rest of the time he only stared, talking even less than Gabe. Today, he hadn't said a word since his twin had woken him up with his giggles. Mike was still angry about it - he wished he could have slept longer, maybe even for the rest of the day. Another hiss and Gabe's low laughter were too much. He turned around, the chain jingling when he moved.

"Gabe, leave that thing alone," he implored, sounding less firm than he wished, which annoyed him even more. His twin sat on the cold floor, not caring about the chilling temperature. His bleeding hand held a little, furry creature. The kitten tried to get away from the young boy, but Gabe didn't let go, even when it scratched and bit his tiny, thin fingers. "Idiot, last time father threw that knife at you, you howled like a baby, and now you let yourself be sliced up by a fleabag?" Gabe gave him a confused look, his eyes following the direction of Mike's finger, which pointed at the blood-covered hands. "Oh... Don't even feel it, don't worry. And Kitty is my friend." He held the angry, spitting animal up. Mike sighed. "Seems like it doesn't think the same of you. And she's mother's toy, not yours." Suddenly, Gabe pressed the cat to the floor, holding it down with one hand so it couldn't escape. The creature meowed loudly and angrily, twisting and turning under the grip. Not caring about the pet's distress, Gabe took hold of the smooth, gray fur and tore a bush of it out. The cat shrieked in pain, her claws cutting another deep scratch over the boy's wrist. "It is my friend, I can do stuff with it, it lets me do it. You told me to stop when I do that to you." Gabe opened his hand and watched the fine, soft hairs raining to the floor. "Because it hurts, idiot!" Mike protested, suddenly disliking the cat even more. Why had their mother to lock them up with such a useless thing? "I know," whispered Gabe to Mike's surprise. The older twin had been convinced that his brother wasn't even aware of dealing pain to his brother or the animal.

"My pain goes away. Thought you would take it for me, Mike, but you don't. Kitty does." Mike made a snorting noise and sat up, for the first time today. He put his finger on the new, still dark red scar on the side of his upper leg, a few inches over his knee. "Didn't you say you don't feel pain, that's why you had to stab us with that fuckin' scissors?" Gabe gazed at him and despite the blank expression, Mike could see how his brother's mind was working.

"Yeah," the boy finally said. "Sometimes, nothing hurts when I'm hit. Sometimes, everything hurts when I'm not." Shaking his head, Mike picked up the last bottle with clean water and opened it, only drinking enough to wet his throat. "When nothing hurts, you want pain, when something hurts, you don't want pain? That doesn't make sense." His twin shrugged and turned back to the cat. He didn't care if it made sense or not, it was like that, and that was all about it. Mike didn't need words to understand the answer. Shrugging as well, he turned back to the wall, wanting to get lost within his meaningless thoughts again. But he couldn't. The lethargy had passed, and all of a sudden, he felt enraged. With the collar. The wall. The last bottle of water. His twin brother, whose pointy face always showed him how Mike himself looked when he felt scared and hurt.

Gabe, who played with the stupid cat, hurting it and not caring that he was hurt. He leaped out of his bed, striding to his brother's side with a few steps. Ignoring the protests of his twin or the claws of the animal, he seized the cat by its neck, lifted it up and smashed it to the stone floor, right in front of Gabe. In his blind anger, he was deaf to the cracking and squishing sounds when bones broke and organs burst. "Bastard! _Now_it shuts up!" he yelled at the twitching, whining bundle of fur. "WHAT?" Only after he saw his brother's blue eyes staring at him, wide opened and frightened, he realized how familiar his words sounded. And who usually said things like that. To their faces. "Sorry," he muttered, now feeling tired and empty again. He climbed back into his bed and closed his eyes.

Maybe one hour, maybe only a few minutes later, the blanket was lifted and Gabe cuddled against his brother's back. Mike could feel the warm breath on the skin of his neck. His twin's fingers began to play with the choker collar, gently pulling it. "Is the cat dead?" he asked tentatively, not wishing to upset his twin. "Don't think so, legs were still moving. Gonna check tomorrow. Mike, you wanna sleep again?" Did he want to? He didn't know. A bit, yes. If it made the feeling that everything outside the walls was a big, black, engulfing void go, yes. Sleep sounded good. "Hey Gabe, you hurtin' now?" He didn't have to turn around, he could sense the answer. "You can hurt me if it makes you feel better." He moved the collar around his neck, offering the leash connected to it to his brother. "Just don't kill me, okay?" The chain tightened around his neck when Gabe pulled it. Mike flinched and gave a low, hoarse cry at the pain on his shoulder. His brother was biting him and didn't stop until the small teeth broke through the skin. Whenever breathing became too hard, the boy loosened the chain a bit. The teeth in his flesh, the hand around the chain, Gabe's whole body behind him – he felt how the younger twin trembled. How his breath was a bit too fast. It was impossible to ignore Gabe's agitation. It was almost scary, but yet Mike shared the excitement. His throat and lungs soon hurt terribly, however, his mind calmed down and the recurring thoughts finally vanished. Thrilling, but painful, no, because it was painful. Or not? It ceased being of any importance. At one point, it was too much, the grip too firm and breathing too hard. He couldn't breathe in and coughed.

"S...stop!" he pressed through his teeth. Recovering his breath, he turned around, facing his twin. "Feeling better?" he croaked. Gabe nodded, his mouth twitching and his eyes worried. Mike could guess his thoughts. "Don't feel sorry, just don't kill me," he repeated, hugging his brother. Somewhere in his mind, he began to understand what Gabe was trying to explain earlier. Mike, too, had felt a bit better when he had seen the scared and hurt look in his brother's face before. And this... for a second he considered turning around, seizing his brother by his leash and sharing the feeling with him. No, this had to stop now.

"Why don't you read something? You were complaining that we don't have any books. Now we have them and all you do is play with that cat!" Too tired, and his throat and shoulder still hurting from his twin's rough treatment, he didn't feel like pondering over this revelation of a new meaning of pain. "No, read something to me!" Gabe demanded right away, and Mike sighed. "Do I have to? You read better than me, do it yourself!" But his twin had already fetched a book from the floor and put it in Mike's hand. "You really are a baby," he teased the grinning boy and sat up. He wasn't very interested in the book – some poems and fairy tales, things that his imagination couldn't bring to life. The stories of the bible, those about atonement, punishment, wrath and death – those he understood. But Gabe usually didn't care what stories were about, so Mike's voice soon stumbled through the pages. His twin had crawled between his legs and rested his head on Mike's stomach, soon falling asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**As you sow, so you shall reap**

Galatians 6:7

Part 1

_February, 1953_

A flush of water soaked the boys from head to toe. They shivered, but the cold liquid eased the pain on their backs a little. However, they knew him, he never did anything to them to make them feel good. It was always the same – first three lashes on their back. After that, a bucket of water. The good feeling never lasted long and was over when he hit them another three times. Now that their backs were wet and the muscles under their skin tensed and stiff, the blows hurt even more. The old leather belt had been replaced by a riding crop more than a year ago and cut the air with a shrill, whistling sound. Older, scabbed gashes broke open again and soon, water mixed with blood ran down their spines. Yet, they didn't care very much anymore. Sometimes, when a blow was harder than the others, they drew a sharp breath. Besides that, they kneeled silently in front of one of the walls of the basement, their eyes fixed on the small, skeletonized cadaver of the cat lying on the dark stone floor. Their knees hurt as well, and when they would stand up later, after their "lesson" was over, stretching their legs would be painful. It was nothing out of the ordinary anymore, not after so many months of almost daily sessions. Sometimes, they took longer, and the cold creeping through their bones numbed their bodies enough to make it easier to ignore injuries and muscle cramps.

"Michael! Again! The Seventh Commandment!" his commanding tone echoed through the cellar. "Thou shalt not kill." The boy's voice was indifferent, missing any accentuation. Repeating the same words over and over again, aware that it didn't matter if he got them right or not. They would be beaten anyway, so if they were correct or not, if he believed them or not – there was no difference, their meaning void. "Now Genesis, 4:10!" As indifferent as before, Mike recited the lines that had been hammered into his mind over the last year. "The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground. And now you are cursed from this ground, which that opens its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand..." The man laughed. Mike heard the whip coming down again, making a sharp, smacking sound when it was buried into the flesh of Gabe's back. His twin groaned – it had been one of the really hard blows.

"Can't you get a few fucking words right, dumb bastard?" His snorted laugh wasn't even angry or disappointed, only amused, almost happy. He enjoyed what he was doing, finding fault in the older twin's doings, punishing the other boy. This was God's will. HE wanted him to castigate the demon's spawn, and the pleasure he gained from his humble deeds was his reward. "Again! No mistakes!" He would teach those creatures the words of the Lord, or destroy them. This method had shown positive effects very soon, and he was listening closely when the boy spoke again. Missing another mistake and letting it slide without the appropriate reactions – no, he wouldn't let that happen.

"... And now you are cursed from _the_ground, which has _opened_its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand..." Too bad. With a grin, he checked his wristwatch. Still enough time left until dinner. "Gabriel! Your turn!" he bellowed, suppressing a chuckle. This never got old. He waited a few seconds, then he added another gash on the bruised back. And another. "Say it, Gabriel! Come, don't be shy! Say why you are not allowed to kill in my house!" He grabbed the leash – by now, the boys didn't spend a minute without the long chains and the choke collars – and gave it a strong tug, cutting Gabe's breath short. As expected, the boy remained silent. "He can't speak..." As expected, too. Predictable little fools. Of course the brother would try to be heroic, run to his little brother's rescue. But he was in power, he made the decision. "Dumb thing, of course he can speak, he speaks to you, doesn't he?" More lashes. He would have to wait a few days until the next lesson. Those wounds would need more time to heal, and he didn't want to re-open them too soon, not until a fragile, tender layer of skin covered them. "Gabriel, I don't like it when scum like you defies me. Know what? I even dislike it more when scum talks back. Here, by courtesy of your adorable twin." One. Two. Three. Another groan. At the fifth blow, the boy collapsed. Without saying a word or making a noise, he simply slid to the floor, lying motionless in a puddle of water and his own blood. The man grinned – he saw how the other boy clenched his fists, the muscles in his little body twitching. That little fool, at least he knew by now that any wrong move or word would only cause his twin more pain. He let the whip talk a few times more, this time, on Mike's back. The blows still painful, but compared to before mockingly weak.

"CHARLES! Dinner is ready!"

He turned his head, narrowing his eyes in disappointment. Just now he was about to add a few more dark red lines on the younger twin's body. Well, there was always another day. The work of God's children was never complete. "Learn. I won't go easy on you next time."

Gabe hadn't talked much this evening, even when they were alone. Like on so many evenings before, Mike had treated his twin's wounds as well as he could. Most of the times, his own injuries were neglected; Gabe usually was in a worse state and often simply not able to take care of his older brother. A few months ago, when their father had shoved Mike so violently that the boy crashed headlong through the glass surface of the coffee-table, all Gabe had done was putting a bandage around Mike's arms. Shortly after that, he had learned how dangerous and painful an infection was, and how disgusting. Their mother had explained them what to do about it and left them alone with it. So Mike had spent a whole night cutting deep into the bruises and removing tiny glass splinters from the festering wounds. Gabe had kept an open eye on the movements of his hands all the time, smiling excitedly when Mike asked him to disinfect both arms with the alcohol his mother had left.

This incident brought two new revelations to Mike. Firstly, infections were no fun at all, and he would make sure that neither of them would have to experience them to such an extend again. Secondly, all these small, slow healing gashes were very convenient whenever Gabe's own pains were too much for him to bear. The cat had long rotten away in the corner of the room, the small pile of bones covered by dry skin and dull fur left with them as a reminder of their sin. The game of allowing his twin to strangle him had soon become uninteresting for both of them, as it had had to end rather quickly.

This night, like many nights before, Mike sat on his bed, turning the pages of the bible without really reading. Gabe sat next to him, his eyes focused on Mike's left arm. Slowly, his short, rough nails scratched the thin skin off one of the newer cuts. When the old ones had become too deep and the pain unbearable, Mike had to tell his brother to stop. With a shard of a broken glass, he had added some new cuts, surprised that the process didn't even hurt much. A day later, they had been ready for Gabe. The younger twin watched him when he twitched or flinched, and Mike enjoyed the warm feeling of his own blood covering his arm. If one arm hurt too much, well, he had two arms, so that wasn't a problem.

Gabe's fingertips were already covered with his brother's blood. Unlike other evenings, his lips were firmly pressed together, and his features didn't show the usual signs of relaxation. It was one of those rare evenings when their mother spent an hour or two in the basement. Not with them, but with one of her bottles.

They didn't pay much attention to her, and she didn't pay much attention to her children. From her rambling words, they learned that their father had left the house after dinner for some kind of meeting. Since they had been leashed to their beds, they had only been upstairs once in a while when the man called for them. So even now, when he wasn't at home for some time, her mother wouldn't let them join her in the living room anymore.

"It's sad, so goddamned sad," she repeated whenever she finished one of her laments, only to start with a new one. Or with the same as before. "Wonderful, so wonderful, if it weren't for your eyes. Such a pretty, perfect family... I'm sorry, so sorry." Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed. They knew what probably would follow next. More alcohol, maybe some loud, shrill burst of laughter. How they were to blame for everything, and how mortified she was whenever he pushed her back, ignoring her love and her wishes. She would curse her pathetic marriage. Curse herself, and curse them. "Such a beautiful wedding," she sighed, putting the empty bottle down. "So beautiful babies. So small... horrible creatures, why did you kill her? Why doesn't he let me give him _his_children? Why, why is my life ruined, why did you ruin it, why..." The rest of her sentence was drowned by a sudden, hysterical giggle and finally faded to an unintelligible gibberish of tears and hiccoughing sobs.

The first time this had happened, the twins had looked at each other in confusion. Gabe wouldn't talk to her anyway, and Mike wondered if he was meant to say something. However, they had soon understood that this mood of hers didn't require any answers. They simply waited until she was done and would leave them alone.

Suddenly, she turned around and smiled at Gabe. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes red, the nose running. As of late, her face often gleamed with an unhealthy, bright-red color. Today, too, the skin covering her cheekbones was of a feverish crimson, like her nose. Apart from that, she was pale. Thin, blue veins shimmered through the whitish surface of her forehead, temples and jaws. Way back when the twins had been small, looking at their mother had a diffuse, warm effect. Being alone with her had once meant comfort and fun, but those days were over. When they looked at her now, they only wanted her to go away.

"Gabriel, my little angel, come and give your mommy a hug!" More of those unnerving giggles while she stretched out her arms, either not realizing what the spoken to son had been doing to his brother all this time or not caring. Gabe surveyed her thoroughly with an unreadable expression. And turned his attention to his brother's bleeding cuts, continuing to ignore her. "GABRIEL! Come to your mother! At once!" Now the sadness had disappeared from her voice, and turned into anger within seconds. Gabe didn't bother. "GABRIEL! Gabriel, obey, come and hug your mother!" Her whole face glowed red, her arms still opened. Mike sighed, turning another page of the book, feeling his temper rising. Why couldn't she just shut up and go away?

"He doesn't want to," he simply stated, neither looking at her nor at his brother. After all, he knew and understood what Gabe was thinking, and as for their mother's needs – Mike didn't care. The pain in his arm became harder to ignore. After Gabe had stopped tearing off scab and new skin, the injuries began to throb and to burn. The tired, peaceful mood he was in was gone. A voice in his head screamed, reminding him of what he had done to that cat, and how good it had felt. He lifted his head and gazed at his mother. She was so much bigger than a stupid, tiny cat.

"Shut up, Michael! I'm his mother. Every little boy wants to give his little mother a hug!" she snapped at her son. Holding to the bed, she pulled herself up, her legs shaky. She bowed – more fell – forward, glaring at Mike. "You little son of a bitch, you want to take my son away from me! He loves his mommy, like you should. But you are a bad son, you always talk back. You will not steal my son! Come here, Gabriel!" she finished her command – her tone not much unlike her husband's when he gave them an order.

Mike turned away. Her breath smelled sour and foul. Her weird grin and swollen eyes made him wish he could just punch her. For a second, he wondered why he didn't, but before he found an answer, she had seized Gabe by his hand and tried to pull him away from Mike. The younger twin clung to his brother's arm though, refusing to even look at her. "Go away!" With his free hand, Mike gave her a push, and in surprise, she staggered backwards.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, shocked and aghast. Never before one of her sons had acted in violence towards her. Gabe let go of his twin's arm and crawled behind him, his back to his mother, and pulled the blanked over his body. Shrugging, Mike turned around and tweaked his brother gently by his hair. "He doesn't want to," he told her again, pulling at one of the brownish strands. "You stink, you are loud. He hates that. He doesn't want you to touch him!" She watched them, those two children, looking so identical, yet they behaved so differently. However, they didn't seem to need her or to want her in their life. An old feeling of jealousy, that she had tried to ignore since they were little toddlers, returned, stronger than before. Playing with her sons' hair, guessing their thoughts, understanding them like no other human being without a word – that was_her_place. _She_was their mother. They had ruined everything, her marriage, her life, her motherhood. They had taken away everything from her, and now they even denied her the love they owed her.

Almost leaping forward, she grabbed Mike's blood-covered arm, her fingernails digging into the sensitive, open flesh, and dragged him away from Gabe. Mike yelped, taken by surprise, and before he could react, he fell to the hard ground. He raised his head and saw his mother, how she fiddled with the other end of the leash that was fastened to the bed. She opened the small lock with a key from her pocket. Mike climbed to his feet, but before he stood again, she gave him a strong pull with the chain. The choker cut off his breath and he fell down again. "You come with me," she hissed through her teeth. "Gabriel, stay where you are!" The younger twin had sat up and she pushed him back when he wanted to crawl to his brother. "I warn you, Gabriel!" Mike struggled and kicked, his fingers shoved between his skin and his collar. Her strength was unexpected, considering she was drunk and usually of a meek attitude. It was her disappointment and frustration, mixed with sadness and a mind numbed by alcohol that gave her the power to drag her fighting, coughing son along. She seized him by the collar and pulled him up. Half falling over each other, they climbed the stairs. When she opened the door, Gabe had awoken from his shock. The boy jumped up, running towards the stairway, but the chain stopped him in his movement. He collapsed on the floor, dragging at the leash, frenetically pulling at the collar in vain. "MIKE!" His yell echoed through the basement, but the light was switched off and the door closed, leaving the screaming, howling boy in the darkness.

"GABE!" Still recovering his breath with rattling gasps, the older twin tried to push his mother away and ran back to the door. At her younger boy's screams, she shuddered with guilt, but she couldn't stop now – not when her other son was about to get the better of her. She turned him around by his shoulder and slapped him as hard as she could. Mike crashed against the door and stared at her in disbelief. She had never done anything to stop that man. She had cursed them, insulted them using their father's words. But she had never raised her hand against them. She was no different than that man. "SHUT UP!" she yelled, her hand smacking against his face for a second and a third time. "SHUT UP! I can't bear it any longer! Why do you hate me so much? Why do you torture me? Why do you destroy everything I love?"

Something tickled his lip. He felt for it with his tongue and tasted blood – his nose was bleeding. He should react, hit back. Kick, yell, fight. Yet, he only lowered his head, waiting for the storm to be over. 'Be quiet and wait. He will stop for sure. Moving makes it worse.' His mind had automatically begun to repeat this mantra, not even realizing that it wasn't their father. It didn't matter. Stoically, he let her hit him. When she didn't receive any reaction, she stopped. Already hoping it was over and that he could return to the basement – making his brother stop yelling – he slowly turned to the door. A sudden pull on the leash dragged him away from the handle, and once more, he stumbled after her, trying to keep up with her pace if he didn't want to be strangled. He tried to scream, calling for Gabe, but he couldn't fill his lungs with enough air. Finally, she gave him a push and he fell against something hard – the sink. He hadn't even noticed that she had led him into the bathroom he hadn't seen since they were five and Gabe almost drowned. The door was shut with a loud bang, and the key turned from outside.

"LET ME OUT!" he croaked, jumping at the door and drumming against the wood with his fist. "LET ME OUT LET, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT!"

She took a deep breath. Behind her, Michael shouted and banged against the door. From downstairs, she heard Gabriel's desperate screams. Occasionally, a violent coughing fit interrupted the younger twin's howls. Probably when he had struggled against the collar too much. She pressed her hands at her ears, trying to shut the noise out. Like this, she returned to the living room. From the bathroom she heard the sounds of smashed glass and thrown items. She trembled when she opened a bottle of cognac, almost spilling the golden liquid. With a sigh, she sat down on her husband's favorite armchair and switched on the TV. Gabe had become quiet. No more screams. For a moment, there was only silence from the bathroom, too. Only a moment later, Mike began to scream on the top of his lungs and more of the bathroom-equipment hit the walls. She turned the volume up.

For a while, she simply sat there, slowly emptying her glass and watching a talk show about environmental politics without even understanding what the men in their important, black suits were talking about. She poured the rest of the drink in her glass and let the bottle drop to the floor, not bothering when the last remaining drops of the liquid soaked into the once white carpet. She bowed forward, wiping the dusty TV screen with her hand, just enough to clean the center. She removed the dirt on her fingers on the chair and leaned back again. Her eyes caught the clock hanging on the wall. She followed the seconds hand as it wandered around and around, unperturbed by the commotion going on in her home and her mind. Still about two hours when he would return. The program had changed to entertainment. Music was playing, again that Jazz that her Charles hated so much. She didn't stop staring at the clock. Mike was still raving in the bathroom, by now he had probably broken everything that could be destroyed. Relieved that the room didn't have a window, she drowned the rest of the cognac. One hour until his return. From the basement, there hadn't been any noise for a while. She thought of her baby boys. How she had held them after giving birth. Feeding them, caring for them whenever she had been alone for a few hours. They had been so cute, little boys. Now they seemed to grow every day. Thin, shaggy boys, with their hollow cheeks and dark circled eyes they didn't resemble her idea of perfect, beautiful sons.

Sometimes, she thought they almost looked scary. Spooky, weird, nonhuman creatures. They would have been so pretty and handsome if he had accepted them. Part of them was. Those big, blue eyes that looked less and less childlike with every day passing. A sob came from her throat and startled her. She hadn't noticed that she had begun to cry. Half an hour left. "My babies!" Abruptly, she stood up and ran to the bathroom, hectically searching for the right key in her pocked. Once she opened the door, Mike rushed by and she didn't stop him. A quick glance in the bathroom was enough to reveal the whole dimension of the chaos. Not one single thing was at its place, every mirror, bottle and jar – everything breakable – had been smashed to pieces. The smell of spilled perfume, soap, shampoo and cleaning agents made her cough. Quickly, she closed the door and followed her son. One hand rattling at the knob, Mike banged against the cellar door with his free fist. His knuckles were raw and bleeding, and his voice hoarse from shouting.

"Wait a minute, my dear." Gently, she shoved the boy aside, unlocking the door with another key. Before she could switch on the lamp, Mike flew down the stairs. The light flickered and finally steadied. Looking down, she saw how Mike helped his twin up and dragged him back to the bed. Gabe refused to let his brother's arm go. She followed them, for once sober and sane. The paleness and the blue lips of Gabriel scared her and she could only guess that the boy had lost his conscious before he had managed to kill himself.

"Idiot, you gonna kill yourself one day," she heard Mike scolding his brother reproachfully, yet gently. Gabe chuckled and coughed before he finally talked. "Worth it, can't let you go alone. Too painful." Seeing those two boys standing there, holding to each other, saddened her more than their screams and panic before. Not only because of the still nagging jealousy. Her husband had been right – there was no love meant to be in this world for her sons. What else did they have to hold to, if not each other? After all, she, too, found it difficult to find her love for them when she thought of the life she led since their birth. And they didn't even care if she loved them or not. The jealousy grew stronger, but she tried to ignore it and put on a smile.

"I'm sorry." They didn't pay her any attention, but she wrapped her arms around them nevertheless. "Get to bed, you two." Maybe because she said it, maybe because they were tired anyway, the silently crawled under one blanket. She sighed. The beds were narrow and not made for two persons, soon they would have to accept the fact that sharing one bed wouldn't work anymore. However, she wouldn't bother them with that now. Instead, she picked the bible from the floor and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She would need half of the night to remove the chaos from the bathroom anyway, so a few minutes sooner or later didn't make a difference. Opening the book at a random page, she began to read. Although she didn't know if they even listened to her soft voice, it was comforting to feel like a mother for once.

****_A few days later_

"Wrong, bastard!" Their father hadn't finished his sentence when the whip already hit Gabe's back. Mike was sure that he had gotten the quote right this time, absolutely sure. He opened his mouth, but shut it again. Speaking up now wouldn't change anything, not for the better. Grinding his teeth, he fought angry tears back. It was unfair. They made mistakes – he hit them. They made no mistakes – he'd find a reason. If he didn't find one – he'd beat them up anyway. Whatever they did or not, that man always got his will. While he, Mike, could never do what he wanted. No hitting back, no talking back... Sometimes, being this helpless hurt more than the whip or the man's fists. Sometimes, more than his brother's cries.

One day he would be big enough, and then he would pay their father back. Every punch or kick, every scar, cut and every mean thing he had said to them. If he survived long enough. They were still almost two heads smaller than him. The last time, yesterday, Mike couldn't bear it anymore, and in a blind rage he had tried to tackle that man. As a result, the boy had been smashed against the wall. His back was still dark red and purple from the impact. Later, when he had been able to move again, he had to take care of Gabe. Once again, his twin had been in a worse shape, thanks to him. Every time he hadn't been able to control himself it had ended in a horrible way for them. It was hard to fight back the impulse to rise against their father. Yet, he_had_to, although he had no idea for how long he would be able to sit still. Thanks to yesterday's injuries, today's blows hurt so much it made him sick. The triumphant laughter coming with more lashes whenever their father hit them echoed in his mind. Drops of water falling to the floor... his brother's breaths... everything was so ridiculously loud, as if the noises around him wanted to drown his voice of reason. Like his brother, Mike shivered. Not only from the cold, but also from the growing desperation.

None of them, neither the twins nor their father, had heard how the door was opened. Their mother had to call her husband twice until he realized she was speaking to him.

"Charles, please come quickly! It's father Samuel, he wants to talk to you... I told him you were working in your hobby room and..." she explained quickly, biting on her lips. Her left eyelid twitched nervously and she looked back over her shoulder as she talked. "Hurry!" Without waiting for his response, she turned back and closed the door again. They could hear her from the living room, chatting cheerfully. "Father Sammy, eh? Don't people have manners anymore? Visiting without calling..." Mike glanced at his twin's face. Gabe's right eye was still swollen from yesterday. Both boys shrugged. Suddenly, Mike was gripped by his collar and lifted up. He had hardly regained his balance, when the man's foot hit him hard in the groin. Instantly, his whole body went limp and he dropped to the ground. His mouth wide open, he failed to scream. What air was left in his lungs was just enough for a faint, whimpering noise.

"Feel good? You two don't move, not an inch, and no noises! Remember this, Michael. And think of what I'll do to your brother when I don't find you on your knees when I return." He put the whip away and wiped his sweaty hands and forehead with the clean towel he usually brought with him whenever he went downstairs.

A minute later, he had left. Vaguely, his voice, mixed with his wife's and an unknown person's, was audible. "Mike...?" Ice-cold fingertips carefully touched Mike's shoulder, but he brushed the shaking hand away. "Leave me alone," he hissed back; the high-pitched tone reflected the agony he still felt. Not caring at all about the wet, cold ground, he crawled as close to the wall to his right as he could. Curling up, he turned his back to his twin. "Mike... I..." Gabe began, his hand again on his brother's shoulder. "Shuddap! I'm sick of you! Him, everything! Leave me alone!" He closed his eyes, hoping that Gabe would not speak to him or touch again. Not now. Not when Mike felt like strangling anyone who happened to be too close to him now, no matter what the consequences might be. To his relief, his brother remained silent.

"Charles, of course I know that you always have the best for you and your wife in mind," the priest reassured his host. He took another sip from the teacup, surveying his surroundings from the corner of his eye. Charles and Caroline had always kept to themselves. The very rare occasions he had been invited, the living room used to be a textbook example, like copied from a magazine. Not very personal maybe, but bright and inviting. For quite a while now the blinds had been lowered halfway down and he hardly recognized the room again. Dust covered most of the shelves and the carpet needed cleaning. He couldn't remember ever seeing a stain when this couple was concerned, not on their clothes and certainly not on the floor. Yet the once blindingly white carpet looked gray and was, here and there, covered with dark spots. Like spilled red wine, he thought. Thinking of wine, Caroline's face worried him. He used to work with people like her when he was younger. People with pale skin, feverish glowing cheeks and red eyes. Even without looking at her, and although her meek voice was clear, he could smell her problem. It was that kind of smell that didn't just disappear by a shower and some perfume.

He could hear her working in the kitchen, probably preparing dinner. Or avoiding him. Anyway, this made it easier to talk to Charles. "I'm worried about your wife. She has always been a bit quiet, but now... She hardly goes out anymore, doesn't come to the church meetings or talks to her old friends. We'd probably be unable to remember her face if the two of you didn't visit service every Sunday. And even then she barely talks to anyone." Sighing, he put the cup down. The coffee-table, too, wasn't spotless anymore. Newspapers from last week had been forgotten on the top and the tablecloth should have been washed weeks ago.

"Father, I appreciate your concern." Charles replied. Indifferent and unmovable like a rock – like always, the priest thought by himself. "And I assure you that everything is under control. My beloved wife has never fully recovered from giving birth to two stillborn children. As men, we probably can't understand how horrible this must be for a woman," he continued, smiling gravely. From the kitchen, father Samuel heard Caroline sob. He knew his herd well enough to know that Charles wasn't the warmest husband a good woman could have. Nevertheless, this man was a faithful member of the church and probably knew the bible better than he did after 40 years of service.

Charles had always supported important church matters, organized events or used his influence on the town council when they needed more financial support or authorizations. This was an important, respectable man, he couldn't just talk to him like he would have done to a drug addicted boyfriend of a prostitute, or to a drunk husband who beat up his wife regularly.

"I know, Charles - the loss of her babies must have been a deep shock. I understand this cannot be cured with a few well-meant words and a prayer. But please remember: whenever she needs to talk to someone, she can come to me. Or to her friends," the priest approached the matter again, but Charles only shook his head. "I tried, father, I tried. We even went to see one of those doctors, you know, for the brain. I don't believe in these things, but I thought it was worth a try. She just won't talk. I think it's not only the death of our babies. She has never overcome the fact that we cannot have a child... you understand... it's not possible anymore." Father Samuel looked up in surprise. This was new to him, as was the facial expression of Charles, who actually appeared to be sad and desperate. How different from his usual indifferent attitude. Poor Caroline, poor Charles. What a tragedy. No wonder Caroline was so withdrawn and couldn't find the strength to fulfill her duties as a housewife. Charles' character had obviously grown though. How fortunate for her to have a supporting, understanding husband. Just imagining he'd make her life even harder because of a bit of untidiness!

"I understand. Well, keep in mind - if she changes her mind, she knows where to find me. And you, too. Sometimes, sharing your worries and sorrows helps the soul to recover better than any medicine," he offered and smiled at Caroline who had just returned.

"Dear, dinner will be ready in an hour. Father, do you wish to stay with us?" Her sweet, sad smile touched the priest and he was about to answer, when Charles stood up. "Honey, we have bothered the good man enough with our worries. Don't cause him a dilemma to choose between our company and his other duties of today. Say, father, why don't we organize another tour in summer, for the community? I think Caroline and I will join this year. It will be good for us to see something else for a change. Let's talk about that on Sunday, after prayer meeting." This sudden change of the mood puzzled the priest a bit. The old Charles was talking now, just when he thought he had finally gotten through to him. Well, maybe that was the problem - this man didn't like sharing his personal affairs. He respected that. With a nod, he stood up. At least he could quieten the members of the women's group who had been asking him to find out what was wrong with Caroline for months now. Actually, for years, now that he thought about it. Exchanging a few cordial words, he put on his coat and left. Indeed, Caroline wasn't in a very good state, but her husband would do everything he could, so there was nothing left for him to do but ask the Lord to help this unfortunate, always faithful couple.

"Can't you put on a friendly face and smile for a change?" Charles' relaxed expression mismatched his words. Humming cheerfully, he opened a bottle of beer while Caroline helped him to the potatoes. "Seriously, Caroline, I'm growing sick of your behavior. This sour, sullen mood is unbearable. For the priest you could smile, but not for your husband? That's enough gravy, do you want to drown the meat?" Not waiting until she had sat down, he began to eat. "And you know what," he continued speaking, his mouth full. "I'm growing sick of this mess, too. What are you doing all day? Well, at least you still know how to cook." She didn't answer, and he didn't care for her opinion anyway. After the third glass of wine she put the fork aside. "That was mean!" she exclaimed reproachfully, and buried her head in her hands, sobbing. "What are you talking about, woman?" he replied impatiently. "I don't like to see my meal spoilt because of your antics." Her sniveling turned into wailing, making her words difficult to understand. "Tell'n 'im that... me, not able to give you children... we _have_children... two children..." She gave a cry as if he had hit her when his fist slammed down on the table.

"Are you drunk again, woman? I don't have children. And that's _your_fault alone! YOU brought shame to our house, embodied by those bastards!" His angry voice, his accusations washed over her, she was too absorbed in her own woes. "I want to give you your children... I could! But how when you don't let me? How could I become pregnant again, with _your _children, when you don't even touch me..."

He snorted in disgust. "Ghastly woman. The very thought sickens me. Now shut up, I want to eat." For a little while, she didn't say anything, only wept silently, her tears dripping on her plate.

When he had almost finished, she suddenly lifted her head. "Do you have a lover? At work? The secretary?" She raised her voice, now shouting at him. "Why don't you go to her? Doesn't she cook for you? Maybe she'll give you the babies you'd love to have so much!" As abruptly as the outburst came, it was over. Terrified by her own words, her hand covered her mouth, hindering her to say more. Charles, though, only laughed. "Are you out of your mind? Just because I refuse to sleep with a harlot doesn't mean I'm breaking God's laws regarding marriage. For _me_, they have a meaning, you know!" Again, she sobbed at his words. As she always did when he talked to her like she was nothing more than a pile of dirt, an unworthy creature he only accepted by his side because he felt it was his duty. What he had told the priest, her not being able to bear children, was a new cruelty. "They mean the same to me! I want to fulfill my duties! What kind of man are you, refusing your own wife... we could be a happy family, with your flesh and blood. Maybe a little daughter..." She began to smile. The idea of opening and finally using the little room whose existence they ignored was so pleasant.

He stopped those thoughts with a wave of his hand and another snort.

"I won't listen to your gibberish. You are drunk."

She blew her nose using the napkin and laughed bitterly. "Are you surprised? After what happened? I just want to have a normal marriage, being a normal wife. Having a normal husband who behaves normally in the house I keep in order for him!" There, she had said it. For once, she had voiced her unhappiness. Things couldn't turn any worse anyway. She waited, expecting him to fly into a fury, but he didn't. Thoughtfully, he stared at her, not saying anything. His expression had become too familiar, she could actually see his mind working behind his forehead. She shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Another cruel idea formed in his head and he was pleased by it. His smile and the amused, triumphant flash in his eyes told her that. She squirmed inwardly when he spoke again.

"I understand. I know what you are missing in our life." His mouth twitched and he suppressed a chuckle. The conversation was over, she knew better than trying to talk him out of whatever he came up with. Unperturbed, he finished his meal.

Once she had cleaned the table, he sat down in his chair, having a drink. He had watched TV until she was back with him, and switched it off before she could take place on her usual spot on the couch. "Caroline, get the children." She had stopped saying anything against this order years ago. Either she brought them upstairs, or he would go and get them. Or stay in the basement with them. It didn't make a difference. She hurried away, her head meekly bowed, and with a smirk on his face, he waited. About ten minutes later, she returned, shoving the children in front of her. "Why did that take so long?" he snapped, and looked at the twins, raising his eyebrows. "Well, well. They are completely dressed, when I told them not to move. Did you waste my precious time to dress them?" She nodded. "They still kneeled in the corner, as they did when you left them... I just thought... no, I'm sorry. I should have hurried, I'm sorry... Here they are." Sobbing again, she gave them a little push. As so many times before, he seized them up. Skinny things. They had grown and would lose the childlike proportions completely soon. As usual, they held each other by their hands, but he also noticed that Michael avoided looking at his brother. Interesting. Both children wore the signs of his power on their bodies. He stared directly at Gabriel's face, satisfied with the color of the black eye his fist had caused the day before. He wondered a bit about Michael's arms, he couldn't remember mauling them that badly. However, he didn't care, as long as he could make use of those injuries.

"Michael, what happened to your arms?" The twin's silence told him all he had to know. If he himself or Michael had caused those cuts and scars, the boy would have said so. Stupid bastard. Charles stood up, closing the gap between him and the boys. Not wasting time with more questions or a warning, he slapped Mike. "I only hit your back during the last week. Those wounds are only a few days old. Where do they come from?" The boy still pressed his lips tightly together. This time, Charles kicked him hard enough in the stomach to bring Mike to his knees. "I cut myself," the twin groaned just when the man was about to turn to Gabe. "Yourself. Sure. It was your brother, right? This boy," he declared solemnly, like a judge announcing his verdict. "This boy damages my property. You come with me!" Weakened by the attacks before, Mike let go of his brother's hand when their father seized the older twin by his hair and dragged him across the room. They stopped in the corridor, facing a floor-long mirror. Charles shoved the boy right in front of the reflecting surface. "What do you see?" Nervously, Mike stared at his own reflection.

A thin boy with shaggy hair and a pointed, white face. Pale blue eyes wide open. He hadn't realized that he was trembling until he saw it. A weird sensation. The last time he had stood in front of the mirror they had been four or five. It didn't even feel like he was seeing himself. If it hadn't been for his scarred arms, if his face hadn't been missing the black eye... he looked at this figure in the mirror every day, whenever he looked at his twin. He reached out, trying to touch his brother's hand. But his small, skinny hand was stopped by the cold, polished glass.

"Me..." he mumbled, remembering that Gabe was not with him. Gabe, why was he so quiet? He wanted to turn around, but again, his father's hand took hold of the boy's hair. "You've seen this face before, right? Like the look of your pretty brother? Do you want to know what I'll do to that precious crybaby?" He smashed the boy's face against the mirror. Mike cried out, blood flowed from small cuts over his face. The figure he had faced a second ago shattered in front of his eyes. Shards of glass cascaded to the floor. "I'll give him a reason to cry!" Laughing maliciously, he lifted the horror-stricken child up and carried him back to the others. The moment Mike saw his twin, he recovered from the paralysis and started to scream. On cue, Gabe tried to move away from his mother, yelling for his brother. Their struggle was in vain, both parents held them in a strong grip. Charles opened the door, and pushed Mike down the stairs, locking up behind him at once. Grinning broadly, the man turned to his wife and the younger twin. Gabe had fallen silent and stared at the door. "Leave that thing to me," he bellowed, grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him away from his mother. Holding him by his arms, the tall man went down on his knees, looking directly at the boy's face. "Hello Gabriel. I have to tell you something. See your mother over there?" Gabe turned his head to his mother, back to his father, and finally, he stared again at the door. From behind, he heard his brother bang against the wood with his fist.

"Look at me, Gabriel. There, good boy." Charles chuckled at the younger twin's confused face. "Gabriel, your mother worries a lot about me. She loves me a lot, you know. She wants me to be happy. Isn't that nice of her? Anyway. She can't make me happy anymore. Because she is a filthy sinner, a whore. Do you know what a whore is, Gabriel?" The boy shook his head. "Well, it doesn't matter, you will understand soon. The point is – she wants me to be happy, and as a man, I have certain needs. And that's where you come in." He stood up, and ripped the shirt off the child's body.

"CHARLES! YOU CAN'T!" his wife cried out when she realized what her husband was about to do. "Don't tell me... he's just nine.. he's a_child_! And... no, you can't do that, that's..." She couldn't find any words. "Shut up, woman. Wasn't it you who missed more... carnal desires... in this household? I'm just meeting your wishes. And see, your little bastard doesn't even mind. A true son of a whore!" He roared with laughter, pointing at Gabe, who only stood in front of his father. Neither moving nor speaking, only staring from one to the other, his bewilderment plainly written all over his face. "Gabriel, undress!"

The boy looked at his mother, how she covered her mouth with her hands, and did what he was told. He didn't even tremble. Stoically, he waited, and once the man was done with beating, cutting or kicking him, he would be returned to his brother. Even when he was pulled forward and thrown against the backseat of the couch he didn't flinch. A broad, sweaty hand seized his hips. "Look, Caroline, almost like yours when you still were a young girl."

"Charles..."

Mike jumped to his feet. He had just sat down behind the door and waited for his brother, his head resting on his knees. During all these years he hadn't heard Gabe scream like this. It made him sick and he staggered backwards, only missing the edge of the stairs by an inch, catching his balance before he fell down again. The screams didn't stop. They didn't even sound like his brother. Not _human_. The grunting laughter of that man made it worse. "GABE! GIVE HIM BACK!" he yelled, ramming his shoulder against the door, punching and kicking it. His twin's screams faded into a tortured, sobbing howl. "What are you doing to him this time, you asshole?" Mike began to cry, too. Unable to bear the sounds any longer, he slowly walked down the stairs, back to his and Gabe's bed. The cover pulled over his head, he waited until it was over.

He didn't know how much time had passed. One hour, two... maybe only minutes... Mike leaped out of the bed as soon as he heard how the key was turned. When the door opened, he had already reached the stairs. "Gabe, what..." He stopped when he looked at his twin. The boy trembled, his face ashen. Mike took his hand, but his twin shoved it away. Tears ran down his face, but he didn't sob. He didn't even flinch. His little, pale face was blank. Mike watched him, now realizing that his brother carried his clothes in his arms. "What did he do?" Gabe ignored him. Slowly, like being half-asleep, he walked to his bed. The clothes fell to the floor. Suddenly, the boy began to sob and his knees gave in. Mike rushed over to him and shook him by his shoulders. "Look at me, Gabe! What did he do to you? Did he beat you? What's wrong? You said you didn't mind the pain anymore!" The twin dropped his gaze and looked at his feet. Mike's eyes followed. Blood flowed over the skin of his brother's inner thights. "You are bleeding..." Gabe nodded and suddenly, he threw his arms around his brother's neck and cried.

Somehow, Mike had finally managed to push his brother onto the bed. Gabe's head rested on his brother's lap, the blanked half covering his still shaking body. The older twin gently played with Gabe's hair, trying to make him talk. "What happened?" he asked over and over again. "You still angry because I wanted you to leave me alone? I'm sorry, didn't mean it. I'm not sick of you. Say something, come on, Gabe!" Teasingly, he pulled his hair. "Don't be a crybaby, what happened?" Whatever he said or did, he couldn't reach his own twin. This scared him. "Gabe, want to cut me? I give you the sharp piece of glass, if you want. You can make new cuts this time. Don't you want to?" No reaction. He continued stroking over the soft, brown hair. Time began to stretch again as they remained in this pose. "I don't know," Gabe suddenly said and pressed his face against his brother's belly, his fingers clenching to the shirt. Mike's hand stopped, now resting on the back of Gabe's head. "What do you not know?" Really glad to hear his twin's voice, he poked Gabe's cheek playfully. "What he did," the boy answered after another moment of silence. "Why not, you were there, right? Hey, Gabe!" Nothing. His brother had stopped crying, but he didn't speak again. Mike didn't understand him. He thought of the things that had happened to them in the past. As a rule, he usually avoided speaking and thinking about those memories. The blood, the injuries. How his brother had almost been drowned, how the teeth were pulled out. Knives cutting their skins; being thrown against walls; hot water spilled in their faces, cold water over their bodies... Both of them had cried, sobbed or wept silently. But Gabe had never been this lethargic when they were alone. For the first time in their life, he really couldn't understand him. He wished he hadn't pushed him away earlier this evening. He continued playing with his brother's hair. Maybe he'd talk again, after a while.

"Are you awake?"

He turned his head to the stairs when he heard his mother's voice. Of course he was. The light was on, she could see it. Why did she ask? Gabe didn't react at all, even when she sat down on the edge of the bed. She was drunk again, Mike could smell it. "What did he do to him?" he demanded to know. He didn't want to put up with her complaints today. She should help or leave. Sighing, she put her hand on Gabe's shoulder. "Don't touch him!" Mike hissed, and she pulled her hand away. "Mother, what did he do to him?" Why did nobody answer him? It was a simple question after all. Inside him, his rage flared up and he had to hold back not to hit her. "He doesn't talk to me! What have you done?" She sighed again, shaking her head. "Something horrible, Michael. Please, don't ask. Just be happy it wasn't you." This wasn't a satisfying explanation. This was nothing, certainly nothing new. "He's never been like this when... he came back. What the fuck did the bastard do to him?" He lowered his voice when his brother squirmed. "Why does he hate us so much?" His anger slowly vanished, only leaving sadness and desperation. She couldn't look into her son's eyes. "He doesn't hate you," she answered hesitatingly. "How could somebody hate you. My little babies. I was so happy before you were born. Having my own, happy family... a loving mommy, a loving daddy... no hate... nobody hates you..." She went on, talking to herself, having returned to her usual lamenting. At first, Mike had stared at her in disbelief.

"I don't love you, I don't love him. I hate you and that man... I hate what you and him did to him..." he stated coldly. Either she hadn't heard him or she didn't care. A few minutes passed, and she got up, about to leave. "Mother, why don't you stop him? Why do you let him do this to him?"

This time, she had heard him. Her eyes were sad when she turned around to face him. "I can't, Michael. He's all I have. My husband. And your father. He gives us a home, food and... and... we should be grateful..." Weeping again, she was unable to finish her answer. Mike was about to lose his patience. "I don't care! I don't care about this home and shit! I don't want Gabe to be like this!" Being about to cry, too, he bit his lip. "I don't know what he did, but make him stop it!"

She shrugged helplessly. "I will try, Michael. I promise, I will do everything so _that_won't happen again. Anyway, is he still bleeding?" She nodded in Gabe's direction. "Don't know, he did bleed though..." he replied, not too happy with the sudden change of the subject. However, for now, he chose to believe her. Helping his brother was more important. "Here, give him one of these." She took a small bottle containing three or four pills out of her pocket and put it on the bed. "Try to clean him. Maybe he won't let you touch him, in that case, give him a second pill. That should calm him enough." Sceptically, he eyed the medicament. Somehow, he felt like she had wasted his time, he wasn't any wiser than before. After a moment of tense, reproachful silence, she finally left.

_If_she had tried anything at all, they never knew. _If _she did, it only stopped him for a few days.


	5. Chapter 5

_1957_

Gabe was with _him _again. At some time during the morning, not his mother had come, to bring them something to eat. No, only the old bastard. To take Gabe with him. So it was Saturday. Lying on his back, facing the ceiling, Mike threw an old tennis ball and caught it again. The mother gave it to them, so they wouldn't be too bored. How fascinating. He stared at his hand when he held the yellowish ball. Long, slim fingers wrapped around the worn-out toy. He had grown a lot during the last few months. His mother said that was the reason why he felt so tired lately. Was it so unusual that he preferred lying in his bed? It was not like he was always asleep anyway. Even if he wanted. Gabe had grown, too. Sometimes, it was still like looking into a mirror when Mike saw his twin. Sometimes, it felt weird. Suddenly restless, Mike stood up and paced the room, the chain rattling behind him. Everything was so weird lately. How late was it, afternoon? Evening? His twin had stopped screaming a while ago. On the other hand, he didn't scream so much anymore anyway. In his mind, he saw his father's hands touching his brother's body. "SHIT!" Angrily, he hurled the ball across the room. The old toy bounced from the walls, rolled over the floor and finally disappeared under Gabe's bed. When this had started, four years ago, he had no idea what was going on. However, over the years, especially the last months, he somehow felt what all of this was about. All of this his father was doing to his twin. Well, of course nobody had thought of telling him anything. He threw himself back into his bed and turned to the wall, curled-up under his blanket. He had given up asking his mother years ago. Gabe, too, refused to talk.

Back then, four years ago, Mike had feared his brother wouldn't talk to anyone ever again. The whole night, and the following day, Gabe had clung to his twin, only moving when Mike moved. Cried when Mike had left the bed. Grabbed his shirt when Mike had returned. Once Mike thought his brother would finally relax a bit, he was brought upstairs again. Everything was back – the man's laughter, his brother's screams. Blood between his legs, bruises of the shape of their father's hands covering Gabe's hips. Mike couldn't do anything to help him. Whatever he said to him, his twin didn't react.

Finally, after the fourth of fifth time, Gabe came back downstairs. He sat down on their bed, next to Mike, and pointed at the older twin's arm. Mike understood and loosened the bandage, uncovering old and healing wounds. With a nod, he handed Gabe a shard of glass. A moment later, he almost cried. The cuts were deep, deeper than usual. Three...four... five... on both arms. Mike soon felt dizzy, he was losing too much blood. Gabe stopped when his brother was about to faint and renewed the bandages, as firmly as he could. That night, Mike fell asleep quickly, suddenly feeling very tired, even too tired to leave the blood-soaked bed and go to his own. Their mother's scream woke them up the next morning. She had been horrified when she saw the twins sleeping on the now dark-red mattress, the bandages around Mike's arms completely red. For a second, she had feared the worst. A little while later, she tried her best to sew the long gashes. Removing the ordinary cotton thread would hurt, but at least the feverish boy wouldn't die of blood loss.

Lost in his thoughts, Mike's hands stroke over his arms. Many smaller cuts had almost vanished, some were still clearly visible. The scars of the deep cuts still looked ugly. It didn't matter, the pain was long gone and he only removed the bandages when he washed himself or Gabe needed him. No permanent damage had been done and – most importantly – after that night, Gabe had talked to him. Never about what happened when he was alone with his father though. Weeks later, it had become another routine. The beatings hadn't stopped, too. Sometimes, they were left alone for a few days. He remembered the first time, how scary it had been. Now, they knew their parents would return for sure, and everything would be back to normal. That man would come down, beat them until they were bleeding, and sometimes, once he was done, he would take Gabe with him. Well, if he insisted... Mike tried not to care. As long as these routine procedures entertained their father, he wouldn't think of crueler methods. After all, that man obviously hadn't been bored for four years now. Nothing had changed. Nothing but them maybe. He hadn't noticed it until a month ago, when their mother had come for them and he could almost see straight into her eyes. Only a few more inches, and he would be taller than her. Gabe, too, of course. She had said it was a wonder that they had grown so fast and so much at all. Whatever she had meant. She had been nervous – Mike liked that. Sighing, he closed his eyes when the door opened. He saw no reason to turn around – Gabe always looked the same when he was finally allowed to return. Empty gaze, more bruises. Trembling, naked, carrying his clothes in his hands. Sometimes bleeding, sometimes not. He had grown so much. Mike saw the long legs and the skinny torso strongly enough in front of his inner eyes. That was bothersome enough; he didn't feel like really seeing his twin at all.

"Hello Mike..." Only their mother. How late was it? Partly, he felt guilty because he was a bit relieved it wasn't his twin. Anyway, the feelings of worry and annoyance were more intense. "Cleaned bedclothes." Did he care? Of course not. He wanted her to go away. Stupid drunk woman. He didn't want to have her around, hear her talking. There, again. Only complaining about life, how sad she was, how empty her existence was... How much she wished for a complete, happy family, maybe with a little girl... "Can't you shut up for once, stupid woman?" he ranted suddenly, and bit on his tongue. He hated it when he caught himself using words he had learned from his father. Irritated with her and himself, he turned around. She stood in front of his bed now, glaring at him. "How are you talking to your mother? Haven't you ruined my life enough?" Great, she really was drunk again. He rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look! Move your ass, I want to make your bed, too." Narrowing his eyes, Mike did as he was told. For a moment, he stood right in front of her. He could smell her breath and see the small, red veins in her eyes. Her hair had turned gray over the years. Had he really once thought she looked pretty? He couldn't imagine at all that he and Gabe had once liked being touched and held by here. "What are you looking at?" she snapped. Her voice might have sounded nervous, but her stare remained surprisingly steady. "Stop that! I'm sick seeing your face, while that bastard with the same face is just being fucked by _my_husband! First my life, then my husband! You..." Mike didn't hear the rest of her sentence. Suddenly, he felt hot, like the fever from almost four years ago had returned. In his mind, everything turned into a whirl of black and screeching crimson. Blood and darkness drowning her slurring voice. Her puffy face disappeared and he saw his father, his disgusting hands, his brother's slim body. "WHORE! GODDAMNED WHORE! DIE! HATE YA! JUST... DIE!" he yelled, not even realizing how he had jumped at her and knocked her off her feet. Kneeling above her, he hit her face with his fists. She screamed, calling her husband's name. "SHUT UP!" he shouted back, his hands wrapping around her throat when she didn't stop. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

He came back to his senses when he felt a strong pull of the leash and the collar around his own throat tightened. He let go of her at once, trying to loosen the chain, gasping for air. The next thing he felt was a fist punching his face. He fell to the hard floor, his back hitting against the frame of his bed. The cold ground cooled his burning cheek and slowly, the raging storm in his mind vanished; the world took shape again. He shook his head and blinked. In front of him stood his father, angry, raising his arm for another blow. About a meter or two away, his mother. Lying on the ground, her hand at her throat. Coughing. Her face oddly red, almost bluish, the eyes bulging. The rest of the room behind her seemed so far away, and blurry. Yet he could clearly see his trembling brother. Still undressed, the youth held his clothes in front of him, like a shield. Gabe stared back, looking puzzled. Mike smiled, but then his twin disappeared from his vision. His father had kicked his side hard, and Mike squirmed, not even hearing the threatening voice shouting curses at him. The shoe hit his temple. This was the worst beating he had received in a while and it wasn't over until he was about to pass out. Through swollen eyelids, he saw how Gabe came closer – following their father's order – and was chained to his bed. Mike waited until the man had helped his wife to stand up and had left together. Carefully, he tried to move. His ribs hurt, and so did his face. The skin was broken in several places and blood dripped from his forehead. But the bones seemed fine. Gritting his teeth and more crawling than walking, he reached and climbed into his bed. Groaning with pain, he carefully turned around until he faced the wall. The bed creaked when Gabe sat down on the edge. Cold fingertips touched his neck – Mike shuddered. "Go away!" he hissed, trying to shake the hand off. Gabe didn't move; he only placed his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Why... didn't you kill her?" Weird question. It wasn't like Mike had planned to kill her. Hell, he hadn't even realized that he had attacked her until they had fallen down and he had his fingers around her neck. Did he want to kill his mother? Now that he thought about it, not really. But he wouldn't have cared if he had. He shrugged. "Not enough time. You and he finished too quickly." He had intended to make a stupid joke, but the words came out unexpectedly sharp. His brother pulled his hand away and didn't say a word. Lately, Mike didn't like the silence. It was different from before. A new kind of uncomfortable, tensed silence. Finally, after several minutes had passed, Gabe hesitatingly spoke again, and the words made Mike shiver. "When... would you kill her when you had more time?" What did his brother mean, more time? He didn't mind at all that his twin was asking if he could kill their mother. Mike knew his brother had stopped trusting or liking her many years ago, even when he still did. So Gabe suggested keeping his father busy. Voluntarily. He was about to ask if Gabe suddenly had began to enjoy those encounters. The spiteful thoughts surprised him, and he held his tongue, waiting until the rekindled rage calmed down again. "Leave me alone. Go into your own bed. Or better, wash yourself. You stink of him, it's disgusting."

If Gabe had followed his advice – or if the irritating scent had simply faded overnight – Mike didn't know. When he woke up in the morning, he held his twin, who had curled up in his arms. They had been too big for sleeping comfortably in one bed about a year ago. It was difficult to move or turn, and around that time, Mike had begun to insist on sleeping alone.

All of a sudden, having his brother so close had felt awkward, and whenever Gabe ignored his wish, Mike had simply shoved him out of his bed and turned his back on him. This morning, Mike had a headache, and his face and body still hurt from yesterday's kicks and punches. The warmth of Gabe's body, the sound of his regular breathing... It was comforting. Still half asleep, he sighed; his arms pulling his brother closer, his legs wrapping around Gabe's. The soft, tousled hair tickled his nose. Suppressing a sneeze, he inhaled deeply. A faintly dusty smell, and soap. So he _had_washed himself, just not his hair. Didn't matter. Comfortably, he shifted, snuggling closer, mumbling sleepily his brother's name. One hand now gently stroke Gabe's neck. Felt good. His twin moved in his arms and Mike, completely at ease for the first time in months, growled lowly. A sudden, horrified scream woke him up for good, shattering the tranquil, relaxed mood disappear at once. Gabe had pushed him away and jumped out of the bed, his face pale and tired. Mike's eyes followed his brother's gaze and he blushed, quickly covering his lap with the blanket. It wasn't Gabe's fault, or the fault of the small beds. Because of his own body he couldn't bear sharing one bed anymore. As long as he didn't really understand what was going on, he just wanted to be left alone.

"Sorry." Pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, he turned around and closed his eyes. Maybe he could sleep a little longer and forget about this. Which was not very easy when the reason of all this confusion – his brother – climbed back into the bed, under the cover and huddled against his bed. "I'm sorry," the younger twin began to explain. "_He_suddenly was in my dream. Don't want to sleep alone. Didn't want to wake you up." For Gabe, this was an astonishingly long speech, and he hadn't finished yet. "Do you hate me?"

Mike gave a snort. "You are stupid. No." The fingers of Gabe's hand dug into his arm. "Why can't I sleep here?" Thinking of a good answer was unnerving. What should he say? He didn't really know why himself. "Because. Go away." His good mood was gone and the uneasiness he felt whenever he had his brother to close too him lately returned. "No!" The fingers clung painfully to his arm. "I said, go away, Gabe. Now!" Mike almost shouted the last word. "NO!" was the obstinate answer. Crying out in frustration, Mike abruptly tossed around, finally shaking his brother off. His hands pinned him down by his shoulders, not letting go even when Gabe winced under the sudden, strong grip. Angry and breathless, Mike bended over him. "Stay away from me," he pressed through clenched teeth, glaring at his twin. Desperately, he searched for the right words. If this were his mother, or that man, he would have known what to do. Beating them senseless. For a moment, he wished he could do that with his brother, too. He shook him, feeling torn between crying and shouting. "Just stay away from me! I mean it!" Gabe's gaze remained unchanged, the blue eyes still focused on his brother's face. "Why? Is it because..."

"Michael! Gabriel!" a harsh voice barked from the top of the stairs.

At once, Mike jumped back, releasing his brother. Gabe sat up, moving closer to his twin, and reached for his hand. The older twin squeezed it reassuringly, and Gabe smiled. A useless gesture, it wouldn't save either of them from whatever their father had planned for them. Both of them knew that. Yet they only separated reluctantly when they were ordered to. Stoically, they watched their father. A pair of handcuffs closed with a metallic click around Mike's wrists, and a new chain connected them with the choke collar. "Be grateful, bastard. You'll still have enough freedom to scratch yourself or wipe your nose. But you'll have a harder time attacking decent people." The man patted the boy's bruised cheek mockingly, and Mike had to hold back not to snap at him. Gabe was next. Once he was done, their father unfastened the leash and dragged the younger twin with him. Mike sighed, and let himself fall onto the bed again. He hadn't even noticed his mother, who had placed a tablet with their food ration for today in front of the stairway. At this point, she was out of reach, just in case her son decided to attack her again. Mike lifted his hands, staring at the new bonds. It would be hard, no, impossible to properly strangle someone with the short chain between his wrists. Frustrated, he tugged at the new chain fastened to his collar. He would have to be careful not to strangle himself while being asleep. At least he now had a good reason why Gabe should sleep in his own bed, alone. He stood up and crawled under his brother's bed, searching for the ball. Throwing and catching had become harder now. Trying to ignore the noises coming from upstairs, he wondered when they would return his twin to him this time.

_Fall 1957_

Alone again. From all the many things that happened to Mike, the loneliness was the worst. Their first nine years he had never been that often separated from his twin, and not for so long. Yes, Gabe didn't talk much. Yes, lately it drove Mike mad whenever his brother was too close to him. Yes, sometimes he thought it would be easier to be alone, easier than being angry and confused. Nevertheless he felt the worst when he actually was left alone down. Even when they didn't talk for hours, not even looked at each other – he'd rather have it like this than being without his brother. He also hated the look in Gabe's face when the boy returned. It was already late, he knew that much, even without a clock or a window. Sometimes, they didn't see their father for a week. Sometimes, he came daily for Gabe, only letting the exhausted youth rest for a few hours. And then, Mike would hear his brother cry and scream. He couldn't decide what was harder to bear – hearing his twin yelling for him, or when Gabe was silent all of the sudden. Weeks ago, his brother had stopped crying when they were alone. Gabe was changing. Mike couldn't explain it, but he felt it. Maybe he was only imagining things. The only thing that hadn't changed was how his twin always tried to be close to him. This was something that was hard for Mike, too – why he shoved his brother away and snapped at him, even threatened him, Mike didn't know. After all, it was better the way it used to be. Being close... It was all that man's fault! If it weren't for him... if he'd leave Gabe alone... if he'd just stop touching Gabe... If he, Mike could just find a way to make him stop already...

Sharp pain flashed through his right arm. He blinked, opened his eyes and was surprised to see the wall right in front of him. Confused, he looked around. Without realizing it, he had left his bed and started pacing through the basement, as far as his leash had let him. He also hadn't realized how he had punched the wall. The short chain between the handcuffs jangled lowly when his left hand rubbed over the lightly bleeding knuckles. At least he hadn't somehow managed to hit the massive surface with both hands. Unlike a few days before. He sighed. Another of those moments in the dark, as he called them. They happened way too often lately. A little while ago, it had not been a wall, but almost been his own brother. He had woken up just in time when Gabe had been calling his name.

Mike wiped the blood away on his shirt. Years ago, the fabric had been loose and white. Now, it was getting tight around his growing body, and the white had long ago faded to gray. Sometimes, their mother washed their clothes, but even then, it didn't change the dull color or remove the many old, now brownish, bloodstains. A few more red smears or not didn't make a big difference.

He sat down on his bed, and stood up again. Still no new noises from upstairs. He thought he heard the TV, sometimes the voice of his father. Otherwise – nothing, no sound from Gabe, and not from their mother. Again, he walked through the room. Restless as he was, he wouldn't be able to lie still, let alone sleep. He almost jumped aside when a sudden, thumping noise came from above, but not from the cellar door. Lifting his head, he saw the old boards that covered the window. A howling wind raged outside, and rain heavily beat against the glass. Another stormy night, nothing out of the ordinary. Mike had never been afraid of them, even if they came with thunder. He didn't know what was really happening outside, and all his childhood, Gabe had been with him, so there wasn't something to be scared of. The window... "What the...?" After 13 years down here, there had always been those long boards. All the time they had known they covered a window, but never really thought twice about it. He took a few steps back to gain a better view at the wooden construction and stared at it in bewilderment. They knew this room perfectly well, every inch of it, every little dust grain. They knew, of course, the boarded-up window. Yet, they had never spent a second thought on it or even questioned it. There was a window. Windows lead outside. Boards in front of it. If they were gone, he could see outside. He had never opened a window, but he knew that was possible. Maybe, if he just could... Nervously, he looked over his shoulder, facing the stairs and listening carefully. Still nothing but the TV and the wind. Stretching, standing on his toes, he tried to reach the lowest board. He didn't even touch the wall underneath – the leash was too short. This was of no use, and he wasn't tall enough anyway. And even if he succeeded in breaking the window open, what next?

If only Gabe was here. Thinking of what lay behind the boards – behind the window – was too much for his imagination. All he could think of were the memories of what he used to see through the window in the living room at daylight. People, trees, leaves. Cars. It didn't matter.

Muttering several curses under his breath, he returned to his bed and pulled the cover over his head, trying to think of his brother, hoping he would come back soon. And annoy him. He would get angry and in the end, he would wake up in the morning with Gabe either in his arms or hugging him from behind. Nothing out of the ordinary. The rain became stronger. The tapping sound against the glass mocked him, growing louder and louder. It was disturbing. Still no sound from upstairs. People and dogs. Children of his size, walking around freely, without leashes and collars around their necks. Angrily, he tossed the blanket away and jumped to his feet. The stairs and the door were forgotten when he tried to push his bed closer to the wall. The metal frame screeched on the stone floor and he halted, remembering where he was. Counting to twenty, he waited. Nothing happened. As careful as he could, he continued pushing the bed, slowly, hoping to avoid as much of the ugly sound as possible. Every few steps, he paused, listening intensely. No key was turned, nobody shouted or attacked him. Finally, he decided it was close enough and climbed first onto the bed, then on its head. The old frame was slim and shaky, but he kept his balance, supporting himself by holding to the boards. He could reach them easily now.

Mike took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He squeezed the fingers of both hands between the lowest and the middle board, seizing the wooden edge. Carefully, he gave it a jolt. Old mortar trickled on the mattress and tiny, wooden splinters pierced through the skin of Mike's hands. But the board didn't move. In his mind, he heard their mother speaking. "We cannot go away. This is our life, there is no place for a mother with two sons. Our place is here, by his side. Here we belong." How often had she repeated that when they had asked her if they couldn't go to the next house and stay there? She had said it when they didn't ask, when they used to be too small to ask and when they didn't care anymore. What if she was right and there was nowhere to go for a mother with her children? What about children without her mother? Going away... to the trees or the other house... seeing how their basement looked, if they smelled of alcohol like mother or disgusting like father... Why did he bother so much? If he was caught he would be punished. For a moment, his courage left him and he was about to climb down, forgetting about the whole thing.

"Bullshit!" he suddenly snapped at the wall, strengthened his grip and jumped from the bed head. Finally, the long but rusty nails gave in. The board still in his hands, Mike staggered backwards, losing his balance, and fell from the bed to the hard floor.

"Dammit..." He flinched when he sat up again, his back hurting. Perplexed, he looked at his hands – it was true, he really had done it. Laughingly, he lifted his head. He couldn't see much from this perspective, but it didn't matter. He threw the piece of wood away and climbed back on the bed. This time, he was more careful when he jumped down and really – he avoided crashing to the ground this time. Now that he knew how to use his own weight to pull the boards down, things went more smoothly, and a few minutes later, his scratched, skinned hands rested on the slim windowsill. In front of him – the window. Not half as high or wide as those from upstairs, but there it was. Mike peered through the glass, his view blurred by raindrops running down the surface. He was both disappointed and confused.

Outside, it was darker than inside. The small light bulb dangling from the ceiling illuminated the basement at least a bit. He had expected to see a blue or maybe gray sky, maybe even a bit of the sun. However, now that he thought about it, he remembered the evenings they had to be upstairs with their father. The windows had been dark, too, he just hadn't paid attention to them. They had other things to worry about. Of course it was dark now. It was late evening. It just never had mattered much to them how it looked outside during the different hours of the day, so he had forgotten.

Hesitatingly, he touched the glass. It was cold, even colder than the stone wall his body was pressed against. His eyes wandered to the frame of the window. There was the catch. Either he hypnotized the slim, rusty handle or it hypnotized him... he didn't know. Stone-still he stood, staring at it. The overstretched muscles of his ankles hurt, and so did his back from the fall before. A few minutes passed. A few minutes more. Then, Mike was outside. Rain poured over his face and soaked him from head to toe. An angry storm blew violently through his hair and he shivered from the wet, biting cold around him. Yet, he didn't take any notice of this. With shaking legs, he gazed into the black, clouded sky, desperately trying to see its end.

There was no end. His eyes began to hurt when more and more rain splashed into his face. Frantically, he turned his head from one side to the other. There they were, the bushes, the trees. Yes, he remembered looking at them. Very slowly, he made one step forward. His bare feet made a squishy sound on the wet grass. Mike stopped, lifting his head again. No matter where he tried to look at - the sky mercilessly demanded the youth's attention to itself. For the first time in his life, Mike began to feel the meaning of the word horizon. And infinity. Insignificance. The countless times his father's fists and feet had hit him, teaching him over and over again how worthless and useless they were... Mike had never imagined that something neither his hand nor his mind could grasp could crush him even more than that man's beatings. The trembling grew stronger and his knees began to give in. His eyes still fixed on the endlessness of the dark sky, he slowly staggered backwards, until he hit the wall. A sudden, unreasonable fear of dying – mortality, another one of those big words he had seen in books but never really understood – overwhelmed him. He wasn't endless. Breathing too fast, he slid down the wall until he sat on the cold, wet ground. The heavy rain had ceased and here and there, the thick clouds parted, revealing pitch-black darkness. And tiny, bright spots shining with a cold, twinkling light.

Stars.

So there was something up there, somewhere. The phrases their father had forced them to learn from the book appeared in his mind. When there was God, he was in this endlessness. A creature he couldn't grasp in a place he couldn't grasp. Somewhere between those cold, illuminated spots behind the clouds. His head began to hurt. Thoughts like these were too confusing, too abstract. Meaningless. Like him. Like their mother and father. And if he had to die, they would die, too. He would end them. Slowly, his thoughts came back to earth, back to the house, the wall. The soft, wet earth under him. Forcing himself to look at the trees in front of him, Mike got back to his feet, standing upright again. Endless or not, with so much sky there had to be more around him than a basement and a few trees and bushes, and he would find out about it. Once he would have gotten rid of the damned collar, once he would have killed those who held him back, he would simply walk away and see what would happen. He shivered more violently – the cold crept through his body. His clothes were wet and stuck on his skin and the chilly wind hurt in his throat and lungs. He thought of his bed, his blanket, how often he had been cold and uncomfortable, but now he felt like he was freezing. If Gabe were with him, they could warm each other. Gabe... he wished they could just lie down, feeling warm skin... angrily, he began to tug and pull at the collar. The chain tightened around his throat as usual, but he didn't stop. His short fingernails scratched over the small lock. The surface was slippery and he couldn't get a hold of it. His nails splintered, the few drops of blood feeling warm on his cold skin.

The pain in his fingers wasn't very bad, he was used to worse, but it helped him calm down.

So what if he had managed to free himself, against all odds? Nothing. Before he would go and find out alone if there was a somewhere to go, he'd rather stay. A last look at the sky – somehow, the terrifying magic was gone. Endless or not, that wasn't that important after all. He had to wait for his brother's return and tell him what he had seen. Mike hurried back to the cellar window and climbed down.

No more wind, no more rain. Instead, the old, familiar wall surrounded him. Their room seemed so small now, but also oddly comforting, as Mike admitted reluctantly to himself. Weariness overwhelmed him when he sat down on his bed, his head feeling strangely heavy and empty. However, he pulled himself together and moved the bed back to it's usual spot, so nobody would notice it had ever been moved at all. He slipped under the blanket of Gabe's bed, burying his face into the hard pillow. The faint scent of old fabric, dust and his brother relaxed him, and he forgot about the still open window, and the planks that were scattered across the floor.

Less than two hours later, both brothers sat on their beds, staring silently at their feet. The scornful shouts of their father had turned into muttered curses and insults while he busily bricked up the window. Blood dripped from Mike's forehead where his father had smashed him against the frame of the bed. Before he had beaten the boy up using one of the now useless boards. A last hit with the fist had been strong enough to break the skin of Mike's lower lip. The man's rage hadn't vanished at this point, but there was a more important matter to resolve – the window. While his anger hit the older twin at its full force, his wife had carried bricks, a bag of cement and the necessary tools from the garage to the basement.

From the corner of his eye, Mike saw how the world behind the glass already brightened. Within the next hour, grass, trees and the sky were shut out for good. Even if he tried to tear the new wall down, it wouldn't be of any use. Once the man was finished, he would go outside and repeat the procedure, as he had told their mother, not caring if the boys heard him or not. Both their mother and their father had pale faces and dark shadows under their eyes. So Mike hoped they would be too tired to deal with him and his brother later, when they were done with the window. When they were finally gone, he couldn't help looking at the window, his brain still processing what he had seen and felt when he stood in the rain. His clothes were still wet and he was cold. Thinking about that, he finally turned away from the new, stronger barricade.

"What?" he asked impatiently when he noticed his brother's stare. Gabe didn't answer, he only kept glaring at his twin. Mike decided to ignore him, distraught by his twin's expression though. He seemed... angry? Anyway, if he was, he should just say so, was Mike's conclusion, and he began to talk, mainly to end the uncomfortable silence.

"Gabe, I was outside and... boy, it was... I dunno, I can't explain, it was just... so..." His search for the right words to explain his experience ended abruptly. Gabe's attack was unexpected and both boys crashed down onto the floor when the younger twin tackled Mike.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mike shouted, shielding his face with his hands when his brother hit him with his fists. "STOP THAT!" Quickly, he seized Gabe by his wrist and pushed him away.

"YOU WANTED TO LEAVE!" The shrill, panicking voice echoed in Mike's ears.

"NO, THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

"YOU WANTED TO LEAVE! YOU WANTED TO BREAK YOUR PROMISE!" Gabe yelled and coughed when he forgot to breathe. His harsh, loud voice changed into a weak, desperate wailing. Now he grabbed Mike's hands. The chains of their handcuffs clashed with a jangling sound. Mike's back began to hurt again, and he became aware of their position – he lying flat on his back, Gabe sitting on his lap, crying. The chill from earlier that night still hadn't left his bones, and the warmth of Gabe's body was turned into an intense, burning heat. Away... he had to break away...

"Come back to me..." The whispered words brought Mike back from his panicking thoughts. "Idiot, I am here, are you stupid?" he retorted, partly reassuring, partly mocking his twin. "I came back, because I didn't want to leave you behind, dumbass." he added more sharply than intended, avoiding his brother's gaze. His eyes focused on Gabe's throat. The white skin was covered with purple bruises. The chain hadn't caused those - they had the shape of fingers. That man again. That man who had been all over his twin, touched him, strangled him. The same man who hurt his brother in a way that Gabe refused to talk about. Mike hated him, because he hurt his brother and because he felt jealous without even understanding why. Bruises. Probably not only around Gabe's neck, but also along his spine, on his hips... Mike's thoughts dissolved and his mind filled with a painfully bright red and absorbing darkness.

Not knowing anymore what he was doing, he jumped up, pushing his brother away from him. The younger twin rolled over the floor, taken by surprise by the sudden reaction, and crashed against the wall. Mike didn't give him the chance to recover and pinned him against the hard surface just when Gabe had gotten back to his feet. There wasn't enough chain between his hands to allow him raising one hand while holding his twin down with the other, but his still muddled brother didn't even try to dodge him. His face distorted by blind anger, he lunged out at Gabe with both hands. The younger twin didn't flinch or close his eyes when the fist came closer and finally hit the stone next to his head. "Dammit!" Mike howled, striking and hitting the wall again and again. His left hand and the chain were dragged along by the blows and brushed Gabe's face, but not strong enough to hurt him. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" Finally, he stopped. Out of breath, his right hand and arm hurting so much it made him cry, he leaned forward, his forehead resting against Gabe's.

"Don't leave me." The younger twin's voice was steady, not demanding.

"Of course not." he sobbed at once. His hand hurt horribly, yet not enough to fully distract him from his anger and desperation. Soft, warm fingertips stroke his throat. Mike knew, this was the closest thing to a hug under these circumstances. He felt pathetic. Although his brother had to suffer from their father so much more it was like he, Mike, was now comforted. Surprised by something warm touching his face, he backed away from Gabe. "You are bleeding." His twin's lips were covered with Mike's blood. Of course, the wound from before, when their father had punched his face.

Another storm broke loose in his head, less of the cold fury this time. Only desperation. Ignoring the warnings his mind screamed at him, he shoved his twin against the wall for the second time within a few minutes; pressing his mouth on Gabe's, tasting his own blood. His injured lip hurt and he didn't really know what he was doing, but it felt good, and his brother didn't fight back. So it wasn't wrong. His hands were shaking when he touched the face that looked so much like his own. Startled, Gabe gasped for air, opening his mouth. Mike shuddered, and before he could stop himself, he let his tongue slide over his twin's bottom lip. Growling lowly when Gabe responded by mimicking his insecure movements. His hands reaching around Gabe's head and - pulling him closer - Mike demanded more, deepening the kiss. Running over smooth teeth, his tongue greedily brushed over Gabe's. He felt his twin's body shivering and moved even closer, pressing their hips together. Even if his ideas what he really wanted or where this was leading were more than rough, he knew that this was good.

"Like him..."

Startled, Mike halted and took a step back. He almost hadn't understood the faint words. "What?" Now his twin looked confused.

"You said 'like him', what do you mean?" Mike prompted impatiently, already beginning to guess the answer, dreading to hear it.

"I did? Don't know..." The confusion slowly disappeared from Gabe's face and Mike could see how his brother realized what he had been thinking. The younger twin lowered his gaze; Mike's eyes followed and stopped at his groin. "Dammit..." Hard again, as so often over the past weeks when Gabe had slept too close to him. "It's like him," his brother repeated.

"I'm not like him!" Mike yelled back, irritated and self-loathing by the very thought he might resemble that man in any way. He raised his hands, ready to attack Gabe, and lowered them again. "Dammit..." he cursed once more, turned around and threw himself on his bed. His brother joined him, wrapping his arms and legs around Mike as close as possible. "I'm not like him, not at all!" the older twin insisted stubbornly, desperately fearing he might be wrong.

"I know."

A shudder ran down Mike's spine when Gabe's teeth bit along his neck not all too gently. The pain relaxed him. "Never say I am like father again, Gabe. Never!"

"Okay."

Mike sighed, unable to extinguish the heat he was still feeling in his body with his brother biting and licking the sore skin of his throat and his arms around him. "I'm sorry... I just don't know..." He coiled himself up and tried to break away from his brother, but Gabe held him back. "But I know..." Before Mike could ask, he cried out when teeth finally broke through his skin. A hand glided over his hip. "You - that's okay. But promise again you don't leave me."

Mike inhaled deeply; thin fingers found their way under the waistband of his shorts, making him shiver despite feeling warm as they touched his skin. Instinctively, he moved closer to his twin. The bounds hindered the hand's movements and Gabe's left arm pressed uncomfortably against Mike's back. He turned around, facing his twin. "Told you, I won't leave you behind. Hey, what are you..." he began to protest. Gabe, finding it easier to use his hands now, had opened his brother's pants and shoved them down. "You need that, right?" The cold metal of the cuffs around Gabe's wrists moved against Mike's stomach as the younger twin's fingers began to stroke him gently. Feeling the surprisingly sure touch along his sensitive, tensioned skin, the burning heat rushed from his groin through his whole body. Unknown. Too good for words, but still not enough. Seizing his brother's face with his hands, he hungrily licked over Gabe's lips until the younger twin opened his mouth. Mike's tongue slipped in at once, and, a bit hesitant at first, Gabe answered the kiss. The older twin's mind stopped thinking and the hot feeling took control of his body. He moaned lowly, his hands moving over Gabe's heaving chest, gliding over his stomach. Hectically, Mike unbuttoned Gabe's shorts, his fingers searching.

"Doesn't work..." his brother muttered almost unhearably as Mike refused to interrupt the kiss. "Why not? You never feel like..._wanting..._something_...__this_...?" Mike answered under his breath, chewing on his brother's bottom lip roughly yet playfully. "Never. He says it's not for me." Gabe fell silent, his movements halted. "I'm filth. Not meant to be loved and feel pleasure. He says."

Mike didn't want to hear about that man, not now. More aware of what he was doing and feeling, he slowly pushed Gabe's pants down, just enough so they were out of his way. A bit unsure but determined, his hands began to imitate his twin's movements. Quickly becoming more confident when he felt the reaction as the softness under his fingertips soon vanished.

Gabe gasped, his bright blue eyes widening. "See, he's a liar," Mike whispered with a grin, and moved as close to his twin's body as possible, wrapping one leg around Gabe's. The other youth trembled, his head now resting in the crook of Mike's neck. When the older twin's slim fingers began to glide along both of them at once, Gabe gave a soft, whimpering sound, causing another shiver down his brother's spine. Mike was in control now, tasting salty sweat when he licked along Gabe's throat. The muscles in his body tensed and his spine stiffened as all his blood seemed to rush into his groin. An almost painful, low cry from Gabe, feeling his twin's slim frame shivering against him were too much. Mike groaned, the heat in his lower body exploding, tingling flashes, not unlike electrical shocks, flashed through his nerve lines. Then it was over. Breathing rapidly, he felt his still trembling brother's head lying heavily on his shoulder. "What the...?" Surprised, he drew back from his twin and flinched as he stared at his hand in confusion. Gabe followed Mike's gaze and shrugged. Unimpressed, he angled for the blanked, pulled it up and wiped his brother's sticky hands clean. "Happens always when he's done." He bit on his lip and all of a sudden, his eyes filled with tears. "Hey, crybaby..." Puzzled by the sudden change of mood, Mike reached for his twin's face and pulled him down. Gabe pressed his face against his brother's chest, his chained hands clenching to the shirt, and cried. Mike didn't say anything; his hands unknowingly played with his twin's hair. It had been a while – years – since Gabe had cried like this, sobbing and howling this desperately. Mike tried to think of the last time, but all he could remember was that he had been able to hug him back then. At one point, all they had done was crying quietly for a few moments, if at all.

"I want him to stop... It's... bad. He sweats, he grunts. It hurts, Mike, it always hurts. Every time, all the time. _She_does nothing, just sits there! Help me, Mike, make him stop. I don't want that..." The long stream of words was mostly muffled by sobs. This was probably the longest speech coming from Gabe since they had been very young; and the first time he somewhat talked about what was happening when he had to go upstairs. Mike couldn't believe that his hatred for that man grew even stronger. Yet, the expected wave of blinding rage failed to overwhelm him. He was too exhausted, too sad, too desperate. As much as he wished he could say something to calm him down, it would have been a lie. He really wanted to tell his brother that he would help him. How he would kill their father the next time he would come for them. Making him pay and suffer for every time he had hurt them. Tearing him to pieces for touching Gabe in a way only Mike himself should touch him. He remembered their mother, who never said a word, never helped, never even tried to help. Although she had promised so often.

He didn't want to be like his father, and he didn't want to be like her.

"I'm sorry... I can't... I want to, but can't. When I find a way, I kill them both for you, Gabe, I promise. But I can't make him stop now..." He, too, began to cry, despairing of his own helplessness and the pain his twin had to endure, over and over again. "But you are not filth, don't believe him!" was the most comforting thing he could think of while he searched for Gabe's hands and held them, like he did when they had been younger.

After a while, both brothers calmed down, more from tiredness than anything else. Gabe's head rested on Mike's chest, like his hands, that were still gently stroked by his brother's fingers. "We will go away. Somehow. I almost did it. I'll find another way..." Mike muttered, already half asleep. "Where?" the younger twin asked, more asleep than awake as well. "Outside," was the short answer. "How is outside?"

Mike sighed, opening his eyes, trying to find the right words to describe the crushing, but also intriguing experience. "Endless and scary," he finally began. "Big enough to go far away from here forever. We go outside and leave all this shit behind, Gabe. And he'll never hurt you again because I kill him before we go." He lifted his head a bit, wanting to see his twin's reaction, but he only stared at the back of Gabe's head. "Okay." From the one word Mike could tell that his brother wanted to believe him, but couldn't. Again, they were silent, and Mike listened to Gabe's breathing, knowing that he wasn't sleeping, and probably wouldn't for a while. After a few more minutes, he poked him. "Hey Gabe. Wanna do that again?" Lazily, the younger twin turned his head, dazedly looking at his brother. "Hm?" Mike grinned. "Ya know, like earlier. You liked that, too, right?" Gabe sat up, gazing at him. "You want to?"

"If you want?" Mike retorted, and Gabe looked at him thoughtfully. Finally, he shrugged. "Okay." Rolling his eyes, Mike grabbed his twin by the collar and pulled him down, into a demanding kiss. Unable to keep his balance without his arms free, Gabe fell onto his brother's body, who wrapped one leg around him. "Okay," the younger twin repeated, sounding appreciably less indifferent than before.


	6. Chapter 6

_December, 1957_

Winter arrived early this year. Falling snow covered the roofs and gardens of the suburban town. From the morning hours on, young and older men busily removed the white splendor from sidewalks and garage drives. Later that day, once when school was over, children would conquer head-high snow-piles; rebuilding them to castles and caverns while their mothers, aunts and grandmas were busily preparing and baking, adorning their homes for the coziness of the Christmas season.

For the two boys still asleep in their basement, it made no difference if tree branches were swaying under the thick layer of snow or if worried parents warned their children not to play under arm-long icicles hanging from the roof gutters. In the 13 years of their life, they never had set a foot on a snowy meadow. The last time they had seen snowflakes through a window they had been six, or maybe seven. They didn't know of Christmas Carols, the scents of cardamom, aniseed or cinnamon rising from the stove. Under the vigilant, cruel eyes of their father they had learned what Christmas was, but nobody told them about a festive season, nor had they gotten the chance to experience it through their parents' behavior.

December was a very cold month, not as cold as February, but reason enough to sleep as long as possible, sharing one bed and the warmth of their bodies under one cover. The younger twin didn't refuse his brother's urge to touch and to be touched, to demand and to give release. Whatever amount of additional heat and closeness they could receive was welcome during those chilly weeks of December. However, learning about this new value of touching and how they were affected by it was the only thing that had changed. Violence was still a daily routine and continued every little while when they were alone. In those moments, in which a tender hand couldn't calm Gabe's violated mind and body or Mike's growing rage and hatred, new wounds were added on Mike's arms, or older ones torn open, either by Gabe or the older twin himself. Often enough, Mike would push his brother away first, to the ground, against the wall, before he pulled the struggling youth close again by his chain. Yet, no matter how overwhelming blind hate, empty frustration or desperate need might have been, in the end they would sleep in one bed, under one blanket, as closely huddled against each other as possible.

The last day and the following night had been exhausting. With a father in a bad mood - angry at some person they didn't know – who loved to regain his happiness by making them suffer, there were always seemingly never ending hours of pain to expect. Too much pain to make it disappear with hugs and a long kiss before falling asleep. Naturally, their eyes were still closed and their chests heaving in a steady, peaceful rhythm when the parents returned from the weekly church service. Lazily lifting one eyelid, Mike didn't even bother to turn around. His back was directed to the stairs and Gabe had wrapped his legs around him. The younger twin's chained hands rested a bit uncomfortably on Mike's throat; however, he didn't really want to change this position or to wake up his brother. From the clicking noise of flat heels coming from the other end of the room he heard it was only their mother anyway. Sleepily, the forefinger of his right hand traced the purple bruise that had developed on Gabe's cheekbone. A new mark, one of the few not caused by their father. Slightly feeling guilty, he smiled. No matter how much his brother had to endure from that man – whenever Mike lost his temper and attacked him, the quiet boy wouldn't hesitate to fight back. Mike could still taste stale blood on his tongue and he didn't have to look at his right arm to know how deep a rusty nail had been buried into the flesh. More than once, it had been stabbed into his shoulder before Mike could finally push his twin away.

"Michael! Gabriel!" an exasperated voice rose up from the end of the stairs. Annoyed by the disturbance, Mike sighed, still refusing to move. He could imagine the sight clearly – how she stood there, wearing a long, clean dress. Feet stuck in black shoes. The grey hair probably pinned-up, unlike the untidy mane she wore when she didn't leave the house. Nose and cheeks red, eyes teary. Maybe make-up was smeared all over her face again, maybe not yet. Who cared? Who cared for a woman with a thin-lipped, aghast face, showing the same expression she always did lately when she found them lying like this in one bed, always shouting the same words. "Michael! I know you are awake! I told you, you are to big too sleep together like two little children! It's inappropriate! Get up and go to your own bed!"

As the gust of indignation wasn't about to stop, Mike covered Gabe's ear with his hand, careful to avoid hitting the peaceful face with the chain. Just a few more minutes, why shouldn't they have them? _He_would come for them soon enough, _she_was not in the place to order them around! Gently, his lips brushed his twin's forehead. A very different part of his body was about to wake up now. She should just go away already; he had his own mind how he wanted to wake Gabe up.

"Michael! That's... Are you even listening to me? Get up and stay away from your brother or..." Almost laughing at the attempt of a threat, the older twin finally turned his head around, gazing at her with a smile.

"Come," he whispered, lowly under his breath, but clearly. "Come and make me, if you dare." At the underlying, unmistakable maliciousness in his words, her hand unconsciously moved to her throat. Mike grinned wider. Oh yes, she still remembered very well how he had attacked her, and she was aware he would do it again, not caring for the consequences. Still smiling to himself, he turned back to his brother. Bleary, bright-blue eyes blinked quizzically at him. "Nevermind, Gabe. It's 'kay," he mumbled, hands already moving over the smooth chest of his twin.

"Imprudent children, I know you will atone for this, he will make you." There was no threat in her voice, only the certainty of her husband being in the right, calming and agitating her mind equally. Everyone in the house knew that another drink would diminish her grief before ten minutes would have passed.

She hadn't told Charles of her worries. Of what kind of disturbance she was thinking every time she saw her sons holding each other even too close for twins. For now, her mind refused to clearly shape what she already felt was about to happen between them, if it not already had. However, it was not in her hands to do something about that. As it wasn't in her hands to stop her husband from whatever he thought was right. Instead, her mind told her that obviously, being a faithful man after all, Charles did the right thing. Sins had to be punished. Even if he punished them with another sin. But he was a man of faith, a believer in the words of God. What if this was the only way?

Those and other thoughts filled her head, and she rinsed them thoroughly with another glass of wine until they became a nice and plausible, pink fog.

She had stopped leaving the room years ago. In fact, she had accepted having her son upstairs with them for hours as a new routine. The screams had been harder to get used to, and she feared she would never fully be able to shut them out of her mind, like those noises from her husband she had never heard from him when he still had used to be with her. Maybe she only didn't remember. After all, it had been more than 13 years since he had slept with her. Guilt had mixed with the pain the sting of jealousy had caused in her heart. It wasn't right to condemn her son. Especially when she thought of the broken, pleading eyes when he looked at her, silently begging her to help him. Only contempt and more wine could soften the pain those eyes inflicted in her. Eventually, his piercing screams would fade, sometimes he almost made no noise except some whimpers. If he cried out, it was less shrill since his voice was already losing the childlike pitch. They had grown so much. Not a small child lay under her husband's heavy body, almost crushed by the weight. Both boys had become surprisingly tall, considering the circumstances. All she had learned about healthy nourishment that was essential if children should grow properly had been read in vain. Redundant information, the children grew anyway. She glanced to the side from the corner of her eye, catching a glimpse of Gabriel's face. The features were distorted by pain, his eyes shut closely, his lip bleeding as his own teeth had broken the skin. Quickly, she looked away. So tall already. With the face of a teenager, the boyishness almost completely gone. She sighed, remembering how she had taught them to read, played with them, hugged them. Now it wasn't her who ever embraced them. As long as Charles was around she didn't dare to show any signs of affection. When she was alone with them they wouldn't accept her gentleness. And she wouldn't ask for it anymore. It had become too dangerous.

Telling herself that the agonized wailing came from the crime mystery shown on TV, she turned her head, staring out of the window. It was late afternoon, but the whole day had been grey, with a sky hidden behind thick clouds. Since yesterday, it hadn't snowed. She wondered if Charles would allow her to decorate the living room with some candles this year. Maybe if she asked him later, once they were alone. He would probably be in a good mood then, the best opportunity.

Those were the thoughts that kept her mind busy while she continued to watch TV, only leaving the room once to replace the empty bottle with a new one. Highly interested in modern dance music lately, she switched through the three channels until one finally aired what she was hoping for. She turned up the volume, humming along the cheerful tune. Given the kind of poor in charm, sad life she had been living, this was actually the most pleasant way of spending an evening she could think of. She didn't have many other options. Even if she left the room, she would learn about those happenings later, when Charles told her the details. She might as well stay here and enjoy the TV and another glass of wine.

Fortunately, her husband had to go to work early on Monday. The weather made it more difficult to pass the roads, often not cleared from the snow. Charles didn't like being unpunctual. Around 10pm, he finally had enough of her son. Stretching with a satisfied, relaxed smile on his face, he left for the bathroom. He would brush his teeth now and take a quick shower before he would dress for the night. So it was her job today to urge the boy, who now lay curled up and trembling on the carpet, to stand up. It was a blessing that Gabriel didn't share the aggressive temper of his violent brother. She didn't fear him when she pulled him up and handed him his clothes. Whatever mess might have been left this time, she would clean up once she had closed the door behind the youth's back, leaving him to the dim light and his brother. She had taught Michael how to treat any injuries, so she didn't have to worry about that. Whatever they did or not besides that was none of her business. Matters concerning the twins were something Charles took care of. As he had always done, when he had decided they should be allowed to live as long as it were under his conditions. When he had decided how to teach them the words of the Lord and obedience. When he had decided that paying a school was too much of an expense and a waste of money for those dim creatures. Why should she care about the rest then? If they thought they have to sin against God, the punishment they received another day was at least earned. Still humming the tune from before, she shoved the boy through the door and locked it. Once she was done putting things in order in her little realm, she followed her husband, feeling optimistic that he would grant her the wish of some tasteful Christmas decoration.

****

Mike's reaction to Gabe's return lacked any kindness or relief. The last hours he had spent, as so often, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Engulfing loneliness dragged his spirit down every time he was left behind alone and nothing sparked his interest. True, there was not much to do for him, the chained prisoner of this basement. However, over the years, they had managed to hide a small collection of books and magazines given to them by their mother. For someone who never really had experienced other spare time activities than reading, he had never grown very fond of books. While his brother was with him, he had no use for them anyway. But when some time had passed and he knew that he would soon be alone because Gabe had to leave with that man, he often thought that he should try everything to make the time pass faster. Dreading being alone for hours, nothing seemed too boring as long as it would distract his mind. In the end, he would lie in his bed, unable to do anything. Only rarely he paced the room or even tried to read by browsing through the pages without really looking at them. There was just enough strength in him left to climb back under his blanket as the heaviness of being the only one in this dim, cold room pressed him into the mattress.**  
**Lately, it had become worse. In the past months and years, the paralyzing apathy started once Gabe was gone and vanished when he heard how the door was opened. Today, after he had showed their mother her place, it hadn't been so bad. A few days ago was another matter. They had been left alone for two days and the moment Mike had opened his eyes, feeling his twin curled up against his back, he had known it was time. There hadn't been any hint, only a little voice in his head telling him that, in a few hours, their father would come and everything would start over again. A certain knowledge with no chance of escaping or changing the inevitable. The warm breath of his sleeping brother in his neck suddenly became unbearable, like he couldn't muster up the strength to feel and accept the closeness, let alone actively dealing with it. Gabe was still with him, yet the loneliness had already taken hold of Mike, the presence of his brother too unreal. It didn't matter if he was there or not, he would be gone soon. So the older twin had left the bed and crawled into the empty one, refusing to talk to the confused Gabe or even acknowledge him being there. There was nothing his twin could do or say, Mike had already withdrawn from his surroundings, lying still and staring at the ceiling. He didn't move when their father took Gabe away. The first time he had reacted this evening, by turning his head, his twin had already been back for an hour, huddled against Mike's side, trembling.****

**"**Well, look who's comin' back?" This evening, the paralysis ended the moment Gabe passed Mike's bed, dragging the long leash behind him. Wonderful, the night wasn't over yet; as always when their mother sent Gabe down, another visit from their father would follow. Most of the time that man didn't stick to only simply fastening the chains. **  
****"**Thought I'd never see ya face again anytime soon." The older twin's mood was bad, caused by hatred and built-up anger. While being alone with his thoughts, Mike had felt nothing but emptiness. Missing his brother, longing for him... the deep disgust for what their father was doing to him – all this came to him now, overwhelming him. An indestructible wall in his head pushed words of comfort and affection back before he could even think them, no matter how much he felt them. 'Come here' or just 'how are you?', simple words that seemed awkward lately. 'What happened?' - a stupid question. More promises, how he planned to end this one day, the same promises he had made since they were small? "Enjoyed your stay upstairs?" Finally, something, not close to anything Mike wanted to say. Not when his twin was kneeling in front of the toilet, throwing up while cold sweat covered his face. Mike listened how Gabe rinsed his mouth and washed himself, apparently not minding the cold water. Well, at least they had running water tonight, despite the frosty weather. When he showered this long, it had been very bad. "You were quiet today, didn't hear you at all," Mike said, as indifferent as possible. Silently, Gabe passed by, shaking his head violently. Icy drops of water sprayed over the older twin's face. One of those days Gabe wouldn't speak at all, even not to him. For Mike, just another day of uselessness. There was nothing he could do, never. Not today, not in the future. There was no way to change anything, and now he wasn't even able to say something of value. He hated that man, and his own life. ****

**"**You gettin' used to it, eh?" he spat out. Taking out his anger and disgust on his twin didn't make him feel better at all. Gabe continued ignoring him. Maybe he didn't even hear him - Mike didn't know. Without a word, the youth picked up his clothes. Mike sat up, looking at his brother's bare back. New bruises, on his legs, his hips, along his spine. The shoulder... this morning, Mike had bitten his brother, leaving a clearly visible mark on the crook of his brother's neck. Now, on his shoulder, was a second one. Larger and deeper than his; bright-red imprints of large teeth, glowing mockingly at him, screaming at him:"he's mine, not yours!".

******"**No, he's _not yours_!" he growled, unaware he voiced his thought at all. With one quick jump, he stood behind Gabe. One arm resting on the slim hip, one hand shoved between the youth's legs from behind. Mike hadn't planned to startle his brother, so the violent reaction came unexpected. Gabe turned around and pushed Mike forcefully away from him. The older twin staggered backwards and tripped over his own feet. Before he landed on his bed, Gabe had already leaped at him and punched him in hard in his face. Crying out, more because of the surprise than of pain, Mike fell on his back, buried under his twin. Even now, while Gabe hit after his brother again and again, he remained silent, only uttering inarticulate, almost feral noises. Mike recovered quickly from the shock, partly due to the pain inflicted to his nose by Gabe's fists. Quickly, he grabbed the chain with both hands and tugged it hard enough to cut his twin's breath short. Gabe let go of him at once and dragged feverishly, more in a wild trance than in control of himself, at the collar, only succeeding in tightening it even more. Using the moment of distraction, Mike seized him by one arm, jerked forward and easily turned around, now pressing his twin onto the mattress. With their positions reserved, Mike had more control over his brother who still fought to catch his breath. Straddling him, Mike watched his twin's face. Eyelids half opened, the blue eyes seemed to be so far away. His gaze followed the features of the thin face, wandered along the jawline and finally, the pale throat. At the shoulder, his eyes stopped, caught by the sight of the teeth mark from their father. Slowly, he opened his pants and pushed them down. Freeing his legs from the old piece of cloth, he lay down on his brother, covering the cold body with his. Tenderly, he traced the new bite mark with one of his fingers.**  
****"**You hold still when he touches you, right? When I want that, you hit me, you think that's fair?" The words sounded far less malicious than he had hoped, only sad and desperate. The scent of soap, wet hair and skin clouded his senses.**  
**The older twin's mind grew more and more dominated by anger and arousal. And an always underlying guilt. He was guilty, a sinner - because he treated Gabe like this. Because releasing his rage while having control over his brother made the crazy heat rush through his bloodstream until it focused in his groin. Three of the seven deadly sins. Pride... wrath... and first of all - lust.**  
**'I'm _not_like _him_,' a terrified voice in his head screamed, but he was unable to listen. Now, he was driven by instinct, more guessing than knowing what he was about – _wanted_** – **to do. His torso heavily resting on Gabe's chest and face at his brother's throat, he inhaled deeply. His hands – chain and cuffs jingling with ever movement as they brushed over pale and bruised skin - went deeper, feeling between his twin's buttocks.**  
**Hissing in pain, he pulled back. Gabe's hand had clasped around Mike's shoulder, fingernails purposefully digging into a fresh wound that had been added only a day before. Mike blinked, slowly returning to a reality in which he lay on his naked, choking twin, ready to hurt him in any way necessary to claim him back from their father.**  
****"**Mike..." his twin's voice was too low to be clearly understood. "Dammit." Cursing himself, Mike quickly raised his hands and reached for the collar, helping Gabe to loosen it. Being able to breathe freely, the younger twin gasped for air, exhaling slowly. Then, with fully opened eyes, he looked at his brother. "Do it."**  
****"**What, Gabe..!" Still not fully comprehending how they had ended in this position, with Mike forcing himself on his twin, the older twin shook his head.**  
****"**Come on, Mike, do it!" Gabe shouted, his voice surprisingly clear and determined. Spreading his legs, he took Mike's hand and shoved it as far as he could between them again. "Don't want me anymore?" He mocked him. Of course Mike wanted him. Even if his brother's words had woken him up from the blind rage – the desire remained unbroken. Fighting for control over his own mind, he flinched when two ice-cold hands stroke over his cheeks. Gabe pulled him closer and they kissed, roughly and hungrily. The younger twin teased Mike, bit his lip, chewed on it until it hurt. Mike fell for the provocation, and bit back, tearing at the soon swollen lip until he tasted a first drop of blood. Groaning lowly in the back of his throat, Mike pressed his hips as close to his brother's as possible, wishing his hands were free. Although he enjoyed this little game of hurting and being hurt, he wanted his brother to join, yet he felt, having Gabe's lower body under his, that his twin didn't share the excitement. But restricted like this, he had to be careful not to strangle Gabe more than sufferable.**  
****"**Mike, do you know how to...?" With the weight of his twin on his chest, Gabe's breaths were short and the question a hoarse whisper. "Of course, idiot," Mike cut him short, sounding less confident than hoped. He moved between his brother's legs, supporting his upper body by pressing his chained hands on Gabe's stomach. "Too heavy? Good," he sighed when the other twin shook his head, using his hands to guide him. Mike's hands had just enough freedom between them to use one to steady himself and one to follow Gabe's between the younger twins buttcheeks. The chain rested tautly across Gabe's lower body, slightly cutting into the sensitive skin of that area.**  
****"**Do it, Mike, just push. As hard as you can." The younger twin tilted his head back, closing his eyes. "Don't know, Gabe, feels pretty tight, you sure..."**  
****"**WHO ARE YOU, VIRGIN MARY? A COWARD? LIKE HER, TOO STUPID TO DO MORE THAN SAYING 'NO, DEAR, YOU SHOULDN'T'?" The sudden outburst was so unlike Gabe, so loud and distraught. The words and how they ended in a violent sob were more than Mike could deal with. His mind blank, he didn't hesitate anymore. His hands seizing his brother's shoulder, he did as he was told – pushing inside his twin's body with a long, hard thrust. He shivered, his long, growling moan drowned by Gabe's pained cry. For a moment, Mike himself found it hard to breathe – he had been right, his brother was tight, too tight, around him. It hurt. He inhaled slowly. Yes, it hurt, but it also felt good, so good. "You okay?" he asked under his breath, already panting. "Move already!" Gabe pressed through clenched teeth, shifting his hips slightly, but with his brother lying on him, his range of movement was limited. Mike nodded and careful not to hurt himself or his twin more than necessary, he slowly pulled back and thrust a second time. "God..." The heat, the pressure around him, the friction as he roughly glided in again drove him mad. "Gabe..."**  
**The younger twin sobbed, and Mike felt being pulled even closer when his brother's legs wrapped around him. "As hard as you can, Mike. Don't stop, I still feel him, don't stop!" By now, Gabe was crying. His hands, caught between both their bodies, twitched helplessly. "Mike, I don't want to feel _him_anymore, please!"

****The older twin shuddered. Gabe begged him; he didn't want him to beg, or to beg himself. _They_should beg, the day they would have to pay... until then, this was what he could do for his twin. Without holding back anymore, he thrust, as forcefully as he could, his fingernails scratching over his twin's chest while he tried to keep his balance. Gabe's cries, his pained moans – Mike knew his brother wasn't enjoying this, but his own body didn't care. He knew how his brother had to endure this for hours with the man they both hated, but he felt the muscles in his whole body already tensing up. His own lust for his twin was unimpressed by the guilt that grew in his mind. He wanted his brother, like this, close, as close as possible, making the presence of that man disappear, erasing the remains of him from Gabe's body, from the in- and outside. Halting before the next thrust, he changed his position just enough so he could reach Gabe's shoulder. With the next push, he bit down into the reddened flesh, overwriting their father's mark with his own teeth. The shrill outcry still echoed in his ear when he lifted his head and searched for his brother's lips. He felt and heard Gabe's short, agonized gasps while he kissed him. He slowed the kiss down – which was difficult to do as he didn't change the abrupt, forceful movements of his hips. His tongue went deeper into his brother's mouth and for the first time since Gabe's return, he believed that the following shivers implied at least a bit of pleasure.****

Mike panted faster, almost choking on his own breath. He clenched his teeth as his back arched. His hips bucked, thrusting one last time – then it was over. **  
**Exhausted, he collapsed on his brother's body. His hands took hold of a few strands of Gabe's hair, and he stroked it gently while he tried to recover his breath. With the release of the tension, he left his brother's body as soon as he shifted his hips to find a more comfortable position. He regretted the sudden loss of the warmth, the feeling of being so close to his twin. Suddenly, he was tired, wished they could simply fall asleep. But Gabe was still shivering under him, and crying. Sighing as every bone and muscle seemed to hurt now, Mike lifted his body and let himself slide to his brother's side. Gabe turned his head, facing the older twin. "It's you." Mike looked thoughtfully at the new mark. It was rather deep and bleeding at some points; the bruise already turned purple. "You still feel him?" he asked, worried and tired. "It's you," his brother only repeated, rolled on his side and tried to move closer again, like he was afraid of the few inches of distance. "It's you now." Mike understood. So this had been a good thing for his twin, too. In another way though. He took Gabe's left hand in his right, and the fingers of his free hand gently moved over the split bottom lip. The small wound from their rough kiss from before had already stopped bleeding. "Want me to touch you, too?" he offered, but Gabe shook his head. "Sleeping," was the short answer and he already huddled against his twin. "Okay." Mike was really okay with this. Sleeping sounded good. "Wanna wash yourself first?" he asked nevertheless as their legs intertwined. The skin between Gabe's thights felt sticky. "You mind?" Gabe asked back, eyes half-closed, and Mike shut his own. "Nah, it's okay."****

A strong kick against the bed and cursing, threatening words woke them up in the middle of the night. That man had finally come. Still more asleep than awake, they kept their eyes shut. The twins clung to each other, hoping behind reason it would change anything. For once, nothing happened. Their father only put the loose end of the leash to its place and left again. The leash. Mike had forgotten about that. That didn't make sense. "Hey, Gabe, you are an idiot. You would have been safe from me if you had run to the stairs, and not attacked me..." Irritated, his brother lifted one eyelid. "I'm not an idiot. I knew that. I'm tired." Mike looked at him with an uneasy feeling. Sometimes, it had become difficult to understand what was going on in Gabe's head. "You didn't run so I could..." he began cautiously, but stopped when his twin glared at him with wide open eyes. Deciding to drop the matter for now, Mike shrugged. Strange behavior or not – obviously, it had earned them what both of them had needed at that time.


	7. Chapter 7

_December 1958_

"You'll hate me like him, right? One day, you'll hate me, too, won't you? Gabe?" Carefully, Mike reached for his brother's face, but quickly withdrew the moment Gabe hit at him. Empty looking, wide opened eyes stared at him. Mike opened his mouth and closed it again, not really sure what he should say. With the back of his hand he wiped his lips. Blood. Exhausted but satisfied he had fallen asleep maybe one or two hours ago, when a punch in his face had made him sit up with a start. He had hissed at his twin, even given him a push, but Gabe had only opened his eyes. Not a word, no reaction. It was frightening. Reluctantly, Mike got up and sat down on the edge of Gabe's bed, watching his brother anxiously. It was cold, probably the coldest winter they had ever experienced. Another year living in the dim light of an old, flickering light-bulb had passed, and there were only two ways to distinguish the different seasons – by the clothes of their parents and how cold it was. These days, it had been colder than he could remember. When he touched the wall under the window it felt smooth beneath his hand. With every year it grew more and more moist in their home, and now the surface of the wall was beginning to freeze over.

They usually wrapped both blankets around them when they huddled together; one alone was too thin. Now this meant Gabe had both covers while Mike had nothing to keep himself warm. He was still naked from earlier this night; for a moment he considered putting on his clothes. A quick glance around, and he found them lying halfway between the beds and the stairway. How on earth had that happened? Only faintly he remembered how they had argued again. Not really argued, as he had to admit. He had attacked Gabe, his twin had hit back... or had it been the other way around? Either way, most of all, it worried Mike that he couldn't clearly remember if Gabe had really provoked him. Or if he, Mike, had forced him. He hoped not. After all, his twin had hugged him when he had been done, and kissed him. So everything was right, wasn't it? Why was it so annoying? Was Gabe awake or not? "Had a bad dream? Wanna cry? Or fight? You need another round? Dammit, if you are awake, say something!" It was chilly and Mike already began to shiver. Maybe clothes would help, but he didn't feel like walking over the cold stone floor at all. Anyway, he didn't want to bother with dressing or anything right now. He wanted to crawl back under the covers and feel the warmth of his twin.

It wasn't the first time Gabe had a nightmare. Mike himself had them often enough, too, so both of them were used to them after all these years, even if their terrifying dreams were made of different horrors. He could easily assume that Gabe's nightmares were worse than his own. However, this was different. The way Gabe stared at him, how his lips moved without speaking – it scared him. He hated to be scared. Being forced yet again to only sit by, watch and wait he hated even more. Unsure what to do, he rubbed his arms. He hadn't been wearing bandages for weeks now – the last time their mother had brought clean ones had been three months ago. The newer injuries were healing. And itching. He scratched until he was bleeding from several tiny wounds; the warmth of his own blood felt comforting. "Idiot, wake up already and warm me!" Snarling at his brother was another way of comforting himself, even if it didn't make a difference. Again, as so often before since last December, he wondered if what he was doing with Gabe was good or not. Or rather_to him_? Their parents more or less knew about it; their secret had been impossible to hide once they had seen new bruises and bite marks.

Not to forget the lecture they had received from their mother after the first time. About forbidden, nasty and filthy sins, how it was already wrong that they shared one bed. Mike could only laugh when he thought about the sight of his mother sitting on the stairs, too drunk to stand steadily for long. Talking and talking without even looking at them.

Forbidden or not, painful or not, it was good. It was the only way for him to be the closest to Gabe, not being shut out anymore since their father had started forcing the younger twin. As for Gabe – he wanted it, too. Right? He attacked him, provoked him and didn't stop until Mike gave in. Which didn't usually take very long. It didn't happen very often anyway and usually only after his brother returned from upstairs. When it had been extremely bad. Then it was up to Mike to make him forget for a while. Gabe needed this, didn't he? Mike sighed and blew into his hands, rubbing them, hoping to warm them up a bit. While he had his panting brother under his own body, thrusting into him, biting and kissing him, being bitten and kissed in return, he was absolutely sure it was what both of them wanted.

Later, whenever Gabe started to dream again, or when Mike saw his blank, spiritless face when he had to go with their father, there was doubt. But as long as his brother wanted him, too, tempted him, everything was alright...wasn't it?

He wished their parents were dead. Everything would be much easier. Nights like these wouldn't happen. Yet he sometimes wondered – would Gabe really want to be touched or kissed by him if it weren't for his wish to forget the disgusting, sweating hands and lips and body of their father on him? In him? Couldn't they just die? He tried to think about the outside world, imagining how it would feel to walk freely away while looking at the sky. On some days, it was easy – how he suddenly was quick and strong enough to fight their father down, strangling him with this damned chain... freeing himself and Gabe, running upstairs, pushing their mother down, not even caring if she died instantly after breaking her neck... On other days, or nights like this, it felt so unlikely, so impossible. Nothing to hope for, nothing would ever change. Their father would torture Gabe as long as they were alive while all he could do was wait. Before he continued his father's work. But Gabe had told him that it was okay, that he didn't want that man anymore. He had never told Mike to stop...

The chain of his thoughts repeated itself.

"Filthy, worthless creature. It is God's will."

Startled at the sudden noise and the weird words, Mike raised his head. Gabe's gaze hadn't changed. "He's a child, Charles. Shut up, he's a whore, like you. Not worth the love of God or any living being. You hear me, bastard?"

Confused, Mike looked at him. At first, it didn't make any sense to him. Random words, said with Gabe's monotonous voice, like they didn't mean anything. No fear, no hatred, no affection. "Gabe, are you awake?" he asked cautiously, not really expecting an answer. "Don't leave me. You promised. Obey, bastard child, hold still. You and your brother, worthless..."

Finally, Mike began to understand. Slowly, he stood up, and sat down on his own bed. He shook his brother by his shoulder, but Gabe didn't react. "Please, wake up, Gabe. It's a nightmare, he's not here!" Still, nothing. "GABE! HEY! DON'T IGNORE ME!" He shook him some more, even boxed lightly on his chest – in vain. For a while, Gabe simply spoke on, repeating their father's words, many of them not new to Mike. Those he hadn't known and that told him more about Gabe's time upstairs terrified him. He was still left out, the gap was growing and he didn't know how else he could stop it, if violating his own brother would be enough to keep him close. The voice had changed, from toneless to a softer, bitter tone, a strong contrast to the hard, merciless words in between. "I need him. Stop. Stop! Worthless scum! That's all you'll ever be good for! Grateful, for having a purpose! Stop... Mike..." The older twin stiffened, sharply breathing in when he heard his own name. Together with the words of their father. So his fears had been right... "Let me go, back to him, back to Mike... brother... need my brother..." For minutes that felt endless, Gabe repeated the words over and over again, their father and occasionally their mother talking through him. And, in the end, Gabe himself, begging to be left alone and be returned to his twin. Mike smiled sadly at him, finally daring to touch his brother's head. A probably worthless gesture as Gabe still didn't seem to realize where he was and that his twin was with him. He was stuck in his dream, and Mike was forced to wait and watch. Like always. About half an hour later, the younger twin's voice slowly faded more with each word. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep. "Need you too, Gabe." This was good, wasn't it? He wasn't blamed, he was needed, so everything was fine. Suddenly remembering that he was still unclothed, Mike realized how cold he was. Quickly, he climbed behind his brother, snuggled against his back. "Mike? You're cold... why?" a drowsy voice asked. "It's winter, sleep now."

In the morning, Mike would feel warm again, and the future seemed less bleak. Sooner or later he would kill them, their father first. He would make him suffer for everything he had done to him and Gabe. Every little bit of pain that man had caused should come back to him. Mike would take his time, revenging them both. After that, they would go away. With a smile on his face, his eyes still closed, he would plan the end of this kind of life like in a dream. A bit later, Gabe would turn around, and see the new, already healing gush on Mike's upper lift. He would ask how that had happened, because it hadn't been there the night before. As Gabe would neither remember his dream nor the words he had said or how he had hit his brother, Mike would lie to him.

_21st of February, 1959_

Caroline nipped slowly on her glass. Half an hour ago, she had opened a bottle of wine, the last one. It was already half past eight in the evening; the shops had closed many hours before. Another dull weekend lay before her, with nothing else to do than sitting on the couch, watching TV and trying her best to ignore what was happening an arm-length to her left. Over the rim of the almost empty glass, her eyes stared at the flickering screen. During the last year, the TV had broken down several times, but Charles refused to call for a repairman. Too expensive, and, as he never missed to point out, the house wasn't in the condition to invite other people in. Instead, he had repaired the appliance by himself. It worked fine, most of the times, if one chose to ignore the constant flicker. She had asked him why he didn't buy a new television set a while ago, theirs was very old anyway. From the few occasions when she left the house she had learned that most of the neighbors had already bought a color TV. She would have liked that. A bit more color in her life, and since she spent most of her time watching all kinds of shows, she was sure it would improve her days immensely. First, he had slapped her, then laughed. The old TV was good enough for her, she shouldn't complain that much. What did they care, and if everyone from the neighborhood thought it would be a good idea to buy ten color TVs, it wasn't his problem.

That had been last December. She hadn't known then that her husband had lost his job. He had left the house every morning and returned every evening, like he had done all the years before, since she had known him. It had taken her some time to figure out what was wrong. After Christmas, he simply had stayed at home. When she had asked if he was still on vacation, he had hit her. After the first week in January, he had casually told her that he had had to quit his job and would stay at home now. The compensation was good, they had enough savings and it wouldn't be too long anyway before he would receive his pension. That had been all about it and she hadn't asked him again.

Since then, he spent his whole days at home and seldom left, except for the church meetings. On those few days he would shower and dress like he used to do, comb his hair and shave. The perfect image of a man.

She snorted at the thought. Perfect indeed. Her perfect days were ruined. Not much had changed though. She still spent most of her time on the couch after she had finished her housework. Or at least those parts that couldn't be delayed any longer. For a moment she wondered if it was already time to wash the curtains again. And the remains of today's breakfast still stood on the table. She decided those things could wait a bit. She would have to clean the kitchen first anyway, but certainly not this evening or tomorrow, on Sunday. Refilling her glass, she told herself to stop once the bottle was half empty. She had forgotten to go to the grocery store yesterday and in the early morning hours of Saturday she had still been asleep. Charles had bought enough food for the next week, but he hadn't thought of adding more wine to the list. He didn't talk her out of her little habit, but he didn't help her either. However, as long as he left her alone with his violent outbursts and insults she was fine.

She even had gotten used to her son being upstairs with them. After the first glass of wine it was surprisingly easy to ignore the noises coming from the other end of the sofa. It had been very hard at first to hear Gabriel scream and cry, and her husband's laughing and groaning. But since he was with them almost every day now after Charles' early retirement, it had become easier. She avoided looking at them for too long anyway, therefore she was alright.

The telephone rang and she put her drink down. Right, Saturday evening, how could she forget. She switched off the TV and gave Charles a nod. If he hadn't put his hand over Gabriel's mouth to prevent him from making any noise, she would have thought he hadn't even noticed her standing up. She went over to the small table next to the television set, shoved a few dried fir branches – a reminder of Christmas – aside and picked up the phone.

"Hello mom. Yes, I'm fine. Thanks." Slowly, she walked to the kitchen door and leaned against the inner frame. She hadn't drunk much today and felt a bit dizzy; her hands were trembling slightly. At least her voice wasn't shaky today, so she could speak quite easily with her mother today without causing her any worries.

"Yes, Charles is fine, too. I shall tell you he said 'hello'. What... yes, of course I will. He's just a bit busy now." While speaking of her husband, she turned around. Busy indeed. With her son on his lap, amusing himself with the scrawny boy for how long now... one hour? Two? Long enough to exhaust him enough so he didn't even cry anymore. But she could hardly tell her mother that. After all, this was Charles, the son-in-law of her dreams. Now she was really longing for another glass. Mother had sent a bottle of Scotch for Charles' birthday, she remembered and wondered how much was still left of it. "What did you say? Oh..." she said when the elderly woman repeated her question. Of course not forgetting to add that Caroline shouldn't always have her head in the clouds.

"Mom, I know he's wonderful. That's why I married him. No, please, not that again." Since when was Gabriel looking at her? He hadn't looked at her for... she couldn't remember. Usually, the boy gazed into space while being raped by the husband of the year, she thought sarcastically, feeling both jealous and guilty. Three men in this house, and nobody ever looked at her. Being despised by Charles was one thing, but being rejected by her own sons had made her bitter.

"Mom, I've told you, it's not my fault that I didn't become pregnant again, it's just... no, sorry, but... yes, yes I know that a good wife should... Are you listening? I wanted to have another child, but..." Why did she try anyway? Charles was the good, great, faithful husband, and in the eyes of her mother, Caroline would always fail as the ideal wife for such a man. Another child indeed. How, if he hadn't touched her for more than 15 years? How when he rather slept with her son? One of _two _sons. Healthy, beautiful twins. She wished she could simply shout the truth through the telephone cord and make her mother's ears fall off. Stifling a giggle, she continued listening to all the well-meant advices she had heard hundreds and hundreds of times before.

Gabriel was still staring at her. Somewhere in her heart, something broke to her surprise. She had been sure there hadn't been anything left to be broken. Charles had gained a lot of weight during the last two years and his hand looked fat and giant as it covered the lower half of the youth's face. He was so thin... The boys had grown a lot lately and were now several inches taller than her, but they were too skinny. She tried to remember when it had been the last time she had brought them something to eat. Yesterday? Or the day before yesterday? She would definitely have to make them something tomorrow. If only Gabriel would close his eyes. So bright and blue. And desperate.

"Yes, Mom, I understand. Of course we will... yes, it was a shame that I didn't feel well on Christmas, it would have been lovely to visit you... yes..." She wished she could turn away, but she couldn't free from the intense gaze. 'Help me.' Gabriel hadn't talked to her for years; he had even stopped to acknowledge her presence at all. Always huddling against his twin. No, they didn't need her. But she could clearly understand him now. A silent, yet deafening plea for help that even drowned the voice of her mother in her head. It was just unfair. What did he expect her to do? What did her mother expect her to do? She hadn't asked for this to happen. Charles should be with her, instead of grunting in delight when the boy squirmed on him in pain. What could she do? All she wanted was to end this unnerving telephone call and return to her bottle, emptying it before she got a headache. Maybe she could walk to the gas station tomorrow and buy a small supply that would help her to survive this weekend. Slowly, she shook her head as a reply, unaware that she did so. Something in the boy's eyes changed, and unwillingly, she took a step back, refusing to recognize the feeling as pure hate and disgust. Gabriel, her little angel, he wouldn't hate her, it was impossible. She was his mother. Everything could have been so beautiful, a beautiful little family.

"I will talk to him about your birthday. Maybe he can get a few days off, it would be lovely to spend some time at... yes, of course, no, Mom, this isn't an excuse, we will visit soon, I promise..." Finally, her mother was satisfied. After a few more minutes and exchanges of kind, loving but empty phrases, Caroline put down the receiver. Exhausted. She felt so exhausted. While she lifted the glass from the table and gulped down its contents in one go, the last few groans coming from her husband told her that he had finished, too. The content smile on his face was sickening. Shoving the boy aside, Charles stood up and stretched, yawning. Caroline wasn't sure if her son was unconscious or just too worn out. Without anyone holding him, he simply fell onto the carpet and lay there, not moving at all

"Take care of the waste, woman, I'll take a shower and go to bed," he lazily asked her, missing the usual sharp tone when he spoke to her.

With a sigh, she walked over to the boy and carefully shook him. From the expression of his face she still couldn't tell if he had fainted or not. The eyes were back to their usual, empty stare, his features blank. The cheeks were still a bit wet from his earlier crying, but no new tears were running from his eyes. "Gabriel, my angel..." she hummed softly.

"Caroline? Don't sing him a lullaby, bring him downstairs before he gets used to the comfort!" This was more like Charles' usual way with her. She hesitated.

"What is it, woman?" Instead of leaving for the bathroom, he had turned around, looking displeased. "Can't you handle this thing alone? I doubt the bastard would hurt you. Look at this wimp!" In an almost playfully manner, he kicked against the boy's hip. Caroline didn't dare to lift her head and look at her husband. "It's not him... the other..." She had never forgotten how the second twin had attacked and almost killed her. Yes, she was sure, he would have killed her if Charles hadn't returned in time. Michael was only waiting for her to come close enough. "It's in his eyes... like an animal. A clever, mean animal. I know it, Charles, whenever I look into his eyes I can see how he plans to kill me, to tear me apart... I won't go close to him, even if you hit me. At least you won't kill me." Smiling softly, she petted her other son's soft hair. It needed to be cut again. Gabriel was a good child, he never attacked her. Whatever she had believed to see in his face earlier, it had been her imagination. Such a sweet, pretty child.

"Well, Caroline... I don't like it if you don't listen to what I say, but in this case..." her husband began and paused. A moment later, he nodded firmly. He bowed down and seized the boy by his hair, pulling him up. "Gabriel, I know what the two of you are doing. Sinners! It's time to stop this nonsense; I have tolerated your immoral behavior for too long already." A finger of his free hand poked ungently against a bruise on the youth's collar bone – a mark made by his twin's teeth. Another purple bruise on his throat hadn't been added by his father either. "I will put a stop to this twin-shenanigans once and for all. After all," he added with a wide, smug grin, "how am I expected to purify your filthy body when the other bastard soils you again? You should thank me, maybe there's hope for you. Although I doubt it." He let go of him and the boy fell to the ground once more. "Caroline! Make sure that he isn't able to throw a tantrum. I don't want him to wake the whole neighborhood. Find a place to tie him to and shut him up for the night. His new place is here."

For the first time since his father had finished abusing his young body this evening, Gabe showed a reaction. Weakly, he raised his head and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "No... Mike..." A fist hit his temple and he fell into darkness.

The last thing he saw through his half-closed eyes were the legs of his parents.

"What should I do with Michael?" Disgustingly soft voice.

"Who cares? Feed him or not, it's your son. If you don't, the problem solves itself sooner or later." The voice of the same beast that was still burning inside of him. They shouldn't talk. Should bring him downstairs. To Mike. No, they wanted to make him die? They couldn't! He needed to feel him, soon, or he would... The thoughts whirled through Gabe's head and stopped the moment his head touched the carpet.

****

Cold. Wet. Gabe shivered, turned around, his hands searching for his brother. Something hard. There was water. Why? Slowly, he opened his eyes. Pale pink. Water poured over his chest, hands on his skin. Drowning! Not even fully conscious yet, he panicked, began to kick and thrash around himself. His head hit hard against the bathtub. Dizzy again. His breathing became faster, too fast, the air didn't fill his lungs. He gasped, croaking his brother's name.**  
****"**Charles! Help!" _Her!_Gabe felt sick. She had touched him; he didn't want to be touched by_her! _Two strong hands, very familiar, hated hands, grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him under lukewarm water. Pulled him up again. Gabe coughed. His legs hurt from hitting the hard surface of the tub, his head hurt, his whole body. And now his throat.**  
****"**Is there any reason why washing him takes so long? Don't waste too much water on him, I'll use him later anyway." Washing. He could wash himself. Downstairs. Without her help. The pain in his head worsened. Blackness invaded his mind, streaming into his whole body, filling him. Mike, he needed Mike. To make it go away. Mike could make it go away, could erase the pain by hurting him the way the beast did. Cover it up. But he wouldn't see his twin. He would be used again. Again. Again. This was day three. Or four? Day or night? His wrists burnt. Wet rope scraped over the skin. The handcuffs – gone, replaced. After he had been forced to go down on his knees. For one moment, he had fought back, when he had refused to open his mouth, when he had raised his hands to shield himself. And he had hit him. Accidentally, but right into his groin. Gabe had been beaten worse before. To be punched was better than having the man inside. Rope was less hard than metal cuffs. They hurt only him. Hurting the beast had been so good. Better than hurting Mike. Being hurt by Mike was the best.**  
**Gabe didn't react when spoken to, he didn't hear them. Not his mother timidly begging him to stand up. Not his father's stern order. In the end, the man dragged him out of the tub. The mother dried him off with a towel. Without thinking, he bowed his head a bit so she could dry his hair. He still hadn't realized he was taller than her. "That's enough, woman, go and make some coffee."**  
**She left the room, and they followed him. Gabe was pushed through the corridor by his father behind him. Since the first time six years ago, the youth had always turned into a nine years old boy the moment he left the basement. So it wasn't a tall, lanky young man, but a child that his mother had tied to the radiator for the night a few evenings before. A small, powerless, apathetic child.**  
**As long as they wouldn't allow him to return to his brother, he wasn't able to become himself again. Mike had to help him, to bring him back. Mike would allow him to cut him and he would be able to see blood running over the scarred skin. Living humans bled, and if Mike was alive, Gabe was alive, too. If Mike hurt him, it was what he, fifteen years old Gabe, wanted. But as Mike couldn't do any of all these things, their father buried a boy under his heavy, sweaty body, as he had done countless times before. Sometimes, Gabe cried, sometimes he screamed. The last few days he had been silent. The pain, the feeling of being torn apart hadn't disappeared. He still couldn't really grasp it, and it was too strong for his mind to simply shut down. They didn't let him go back. He couldn't replace his father with Mike. His brother was his only link to his real self, to his sanity. Since yesterday, this last link had disappeared when Mike had stopped screaming Gabe's name. Since yesterday, Gabe had lost himself somewhere in the darkness of his mind. ****

He still felt his father's weight on him, how the man forced his way into the boy's body, but Gabe didn't feel like it was happening to him. Bit by bit, he was vanishing. Soon, he would be gone, and all that would be left for him to feel was that man hurting him. He wanted to scream, but couldn't find the strength anymore. Waiting. Enduring.**  
**If hours or minutes had passed didn't matter. Finally, his father had enough. The weight was withdrawn from his back and his body was almost too numb to feel the burning pain the man had left in him. He didn't notice how his mother came over and turned him on his back. It was easier to breathe, facing the ceiling instead of being pressed into the cushions, yes. Gabe would rather suffocate than having her hands on him. She said something he didn't hear and didn't care about. She did something to his wrists. Probably wiping the blood away. They were sore but had stopped hurting, or he had stopped realizing that they were hurting, he didn't know. It didn't matter. He didn't react or watch her as she cleaned the wounds, plucking several little fibers to stop the already beginning infection. She should go away. It was Mike's job to tend to their wounds. First, they would hurt each other. Then heal. So easy. Something smelled weird. He knew the smell - it came from one of the bottles. His mother drank while she looked after him. And talked more. Slowly, he turned his head and stared at her. One more time. Only this once, then he would never try again. He didn't want to, but he had to.**  
****"**Downstairs... Mike..." He closed his eyes. She hadn't even looked at him while she shook her head. The two words, the first two words spoken while not being alone with his brother, after so many years, had exhausted him. Worthless whore. What was she good for? Nothing. She just looked and shook her head. Always. What was he good for? For being used by his father, to be thrown away afterwards? Not worth to be loved, that was what he said since Gabe could remember. Mother had said she loved them, she had said that man loved them. She had never helped them, never helped him. Gabe didn't understand. He was a tired boy, wanted to sleep, to be with his brother. But he would have to stay here and soon, he would be tied up again, for hours, until his back and limbs were stiff. They would use tape or a rag to prevent him from screaming. He couldn't scream, not anymore.**  
****"**Dammit!" the harsh voice came from across the room, followed by a meek and worried "Darling, what happened?"**  
**Hurriedly, her steps rushed over the carped. He lifted his eyelids and saw their legs, how they stood next to each other. "Just a paper-cut, nothing to worry about." Gabe looked up a bit and saw her how she held that man's hand, carefully inspecting it. Hate. He hated them. How they stood there, like nothing had ever happened, like nothing had ever been said. Like all her promises had never been made and never been broken. Hated her. Hated him. And even Mike wasn't here. He had promised to kill them, and to go away. But nothing had happened. All that was left for him to do was lying here, waiting until his father ordered him to open his legs and hold still. He shivered. Finally, his mind drifted out of conscious. If he could sleep or faint, he wouldn't have to think. His muscles already relaxed and his right arm fell down by his side. His mother was till busy tending to his father. As long as she did, they would leave him alone. Maybe he was lucky and would never wake up again. That wouldn't happen, Gabe knew it. The man had beaten him worse before. And although today had been bad, even that had been far worse before. With only one difference... after the worst night he could remember he had returned to the basement. And finally made Mike sleep with him. Mike... he longed to rip his brother's skin open so bad, to feel the warm blood under his fingertips... hand... Suddenly wide awake, he raised his hands. The rope was gone. He hadn't even realized she had removed it. She was gone, too. Not far away, but she didn't pay attention on him. Neither did his father...**  
****"**Have you looked after the other bastard lately? Is he dead? I don't want a rotting corpse in my home." What was he talking about? Mike wasn't dead. Gabe would have known. Did they want to kill Mike? Who should help him if they did? Something in him clicked. The two figures standing at the other end of the room slowly dissolved into a blurry, gray mist. The words formed by the voices didn't make sense. Only one little thing was clear in his vision – a tiny, red drop of blood, running down his father's hand. So bright. Slowly and unnoticed, he sat up. Blood, from the same hand that had tortured them for years, that had pressed him down, or mockingly slapped his butt. That had been placed over his mouth when his screams were too loud. Despicable, evil hand. But it could bleed. Gabe stood up, his legs weak and his knees shaking. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see the hands been covered crimson with their own blood. Being drowned, being punched, being whipped, the loss of his first two baby teeth... How gently the trembling hands of his mother held the horrible hand.**  
****"**What do you think you are doing? Why is he free, you silly goose?" the man half laughed, half snapped at her. Step by step, slowly, Gabe staggered forward, grabbing an almost empty whiskey bottle as he passed by the table.****

**"**Oh my god, Gabriel!" she shrieked and he couldn't help grinning. 'What is it, mother?' Gabe's lips formed without making a sound. The man only laughed. "Stupid bastard. You really think you can attack me? Come at me, if you dare, worthless monstrosity!" There was no fear in the faces of either man. Gabe only saw his father's mouth moving, trying to remember how he had looked so many years before, when blood was dripping from his nose. What was the sound of a breaking nose? He wanted to know. Something was different. When had he grown? The floor seemed so far away, it made his head dizzy. What if he wasn't a little boy anymore, what would he do if he wasn't? With a loud, grotesque outcry he jumped at his father, angry and cheerful alike. The man's laughter stopped abruptly; the sudden, unexpected attack took him by surprise. He tumbled backwards when the bottle hit his head, but didn't go down. "Little bastard, I should have killed you..." Gabe didn't listen. "I hate you!" His voice was too shrill, more the voice of a child. "I hate you! Die!" He didn't notice his mother's screams when she saw blood streaming from a gash on her husband's temple. "Die! You'll wish you'd die once I'm done with you!" The youth wasn't a match for his father's strength. Still not fully grown, undernourished and exhausted from the strain of abuse, Gabe was easily thrown to the floor when the adult tackled him. Fists already slammed against his face, but he didn't let go of the bottle. He knew his own, now he wanted his father's blood. This time, he hit him hard enough to shatter the bottle. A shard of glass stuck into the man's cheek, the rest of the liquid sprayed into his eyes. With an angry growl, he backed off. Gabe seized the opportunity and crawled away from him before his father could get a hold of him again. But the raging man didn't hesitate for long and was over the youth once more, ready to strike out again. In defense, Gabe raised his hand, just when his father bent down, and the sharp, pointy edges of the bottle cut deep into the skin of the man's throat. Gabe didn't realize his luck, he only saw the stream of blood and heard the gargling noises coming from his father's mouth. However, what fascinated him the most was the agony in the distorted face. He had never seen that before, certainly not in the face of his father. Nobody had ever told him, but he knew he was seeing the face of a dying man. The one who always had sneered at them, and bathed in delight whenever he had hurt him. Grunted and groaned in his ear when he had raped him.**  
**Anxiously, Gabe got back on his feet. This was going too fast. He hadn't even really noticed how it happened. It was the bottle that killed him, not Gabe himself. His father was already on his knees, pressing his hands against the open throat. Gabe saw how heavily he was panting, and with each breath, more blood spurted from his mouth and through his nose.****

**"**You devil, you think you win? No!" His laughter changed into a cough. Gabe stared at him, watching the bright red stream dropping from his father's chin. "God will not allow you to forget me. Worthless bastard child. The face of your brother will always remind you of your worthless existence." Half of the words were drowned by a growling, splattering gargle, but Gabe understood them. He understood them very clearly, more than he wanted to. "You and Michael, you will never forget me. I controlled you, I tied you up, I made you obey. I fucked your ass, whore! Fuck him as much as you want, you'll never forget how my dick..." Appalled and horrified Gabe stared at his dying father. "NO!" His hands covered his ears. He didn't want to hear him anymore. The man still laughed. Hardly audible, his face an ugly, blood-smeared grimace, but Gabe saw and still heard him cackle. "In your dreams, Gabriel, I return... dreams..." From some place far away, a woman's hysterical screams ripped through the air. "NO!" Gabe yelled again, and leaped at the collapsing man, bringing him finally to fall. "Dreams... Gabriel, in your dreams..."**  
**Gabe ended the dying man's haunting curse. Howling and giggling in turns, he smashed his fist against the face, heard how the narrow bridge of the nose broke. A familiar, grinding sound he had never forgotten in all these years came from the open mouth when a tooth cracked. He didn't stop. With all the fear and terror he had been forced to feel for 15 years put in his blows, he continued punching. The skull cracked under the impact and while the bloodstream already died away and dried, Gabe broke his father's jaw. The knuckles of his hands already felt sore and it wasn't only his father's blood that dripped from them. He cried. It was over, but he didn't want it to be over. The force of his punches became weaker, and regret filled him. No matter how much he refused the truth – whatever he was doing now wouldn't be felt by this man. Limp and lifeless. Like the cat. It was too late, he would never be able to make him pay. Sobbingly, he wiped the tears away, leaving a crimson smear of blood on his face. With his father lying still and quiet underneath him, and his own angry shouts disappeared, he finally heard her. The second person who sobbed and cried. He stood up. Thin threads of red ran down his naked chest, blood was splattered over his whole, bare body. Still partly caught in the daze of his lust for blood, he simply followed the weak, mewling sound. 'Mother...'**  
**The moment Gabe had attacked his father, the shock had left her unable to stop them. Even running away had been too much. All she had done was taking a few, shaky steps backwards, falling over her own feet. During the fight, she had withdrawn into the corner of the room. She was hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, like she had used to do after a nightmare when she had been a little girl. Of course she had watched them.****

**"**You always looked." Gabe stated. The feeble weariness from before was gone. His voice was both high as it had been when he still was a boy, and hoarse and deep, hinting at the man he would be one day. She shivered. Everything had been alright only half an hour ago. Everything would turn out alright again. If she just waited. Charles would stand up and yell at both of them for being tiresome. Maybe slap her, then he would relief his stress, using the child, and everything would be alright.**  
****"**Gabriel, my little angel...my baby. I love you, your mother loves you..." she spoke more to herself than to her son.**  
****"**You never helped me."**  
****"**Love you so much. You are a good son. We all love you. Give your mommy a hug, my beautiful angel..." She broke into a shrill, hysterical giggle as she sang on, her arms still around her knees. Gabe had picked up the poker from the fireplace and her grotesque smile died away when he raised his hand.**  
****"**Gabriel, no! Don't! No!" She tried to crawl farther into the corner, but the walls were unyielding. Her eyes now filled with tears and fear, she bowed down her head and began to beg for her life. "Please, Gabriel, you are my son! I'm sorry, you are right, I'm a horrible mother! Please, please forgive me, don't hurt me! Gabriel, you won't hurt me, will you? Please, spare my life!"**  
**His face darkened. The tears stopped as he stared down at her. She had always watched. Always watched. Always. Whatever his father had done, how much he had hurt him. When he had looked at her, helpless, hoping she would do something, stop that man from burning him from inside. Watched. Shaken her head. He hated her. His father had hated her. But he hated her more.**  
****"**Gabriel, darling?" Hesitantly, she lifted her head, gazing at him, her eyes full of hope.**  
****"**Disgusting..." he sneered, the last word he would ever say to her. The iron rod flew down and hit her on the top of her head. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes rolled up, and limply, she collapsed. A small line of blood appeared on her forehead, slowly running down her face. Yet, she was not dead. Gabe saw how her chest still moved. He kneeled down, turned her on her back and straddled her. For a moment, he looked at the frozen expression of her face. He could see fright and horror, but also a small, still not completely vanished hint of hope in her stunned eyes. As she had always done in the past, he now denied her any hope. He waited a bit more until her eyelids fluttered and she began to speak some incoherent words. One hand around her throat, he began to punch her with his free fist, listening closely how the bones in her face broke. It took him longer to make her shut up forever – there was no deadly injury. He would wait until she recovered when she was about to faint, and continue. In the end, she would lie still. A little while longer he smashed her face – now with both hands, not finishing before it was an irrecognizable, bloody mass. Gabe grinned. How much father and mother looked alike now.****

He stood up and sat down on the sofa, looking at the two dead bodies. The blood around his father was drying and left one large and many fine, dark-brown sprinkles on the grayish carpet. The blood of his mother was still fresh and bright. Probably even warm. He stared at his hands. Red. They trembled. He opened and closed them again, expecting them to hurt. Nothing hurt. The pain had been washed away, leaving nothing but a dull, bizarre feeling of coldness. Dark and empty. It was over, yet he felt it would never really be over. The last words of his father still echoed in his head, mixing with the pleading voice of his mother. It had been so easy, so fast. All these years. But nothing disappeared. The memories, still there. His parents, still there. Dead, but he could see them, hear them in his head. Only the pain was gone. The fingers of his right hand trailed over the open skin around his left wrist. It didn't sting. He poked into the wound, nothing. As strongly as he could he bit into the flesh of his own arm, the teeth digging deep enough to tear the skin open. He tasted his own blood, saw the marks and the small, reddish spots. He didn't feel anything. He began to tremble. This was scary, scarier than being hurting. He stood up, paced the room, stepped over the corpse of his father. Ran against the edges of the table on purpose. It should hurt, but it didn't. Drowning. It was like drowning – the world around him faded, collapsed, shutting him out. The rushing noises in his head damped his senses. Gabe broke down beside the dead man, ignoring the squishy sound of the blood-soaked carpet underneath. He howled, drumming with his fists on the man's torso. In vain. Freed himself from them, in vain. He was still here and would always be. He didn't want to lose himself and vanish into nothingness.**  
****"**Mike! MIKE!" He threw himself around, his legs too shaky to stand up, and half crawled, half crouched towards the cellar door. "MIKE!"


	8. Chapter 8

_[author's note]This is the last chapter, the little story ends here. I can't thank BlastedKing enough for letting me use her characters and give them a little background of their own. Check out the amazing coverart by her: art/As-You-Sow-Cover-8-319193944 She's a wonderful, gifted being. Well, thanks for reading, I know it was probably tough sometimes, but thanks for giving us, the story and me, a chance. If you have anything to say about it, don't be shy :) This will probably the last time I uploaded something here. I'll update my other stories soon, you can find them on Deviantart (redheadligeia) or on yourfanfiction dot com (LigeiaMaloy). Hope to see you again, sometimes, somewhere :) [/End]_

The older twin abruptly raised his head when he heard his name. The answer was swallowed by a violent cough. Clumsily, he uncurled from the fetal position he had been lying in for hours. He rose to his feet too quickly and was immediately punished with cramps in both calves. Carelessly staggering, he moved forward, again forgetting that he had already reached the limit of the leash. "Gabe!" he tried to call for his brother again, hoarsely croaking instead of speaking. His throat was sore from all the screaming and shouting. After realizing that his brother wouldn't return after a few hours as usual, he had panicked. As his options had been limited, all that had been left to do was yelling for his brother. After two days, his voice had died away. Acid rose from his stomach, adding to the constant burning pain, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn't eaten since his brother had been taken away from him; they had ignored him. Losing track of time had been inevitable and so Mike didn't know if four or five days had passed. All he had had for a last meal was water from the tape, but because that seemed to upset his stomach even, more he hadn't drank anything for more than half a day.

Without a voice and the strength to fight his ties he had simply lain down as close to the stairs as he could. He had given up. They wouldn't come, they wouldn't bring Gabe back. Nothing to do but lying and waiting. And listening. Sometimes he thought he heard his twin cry or scream, and he was happy about it. Anything, as long as it came from his brother, had been good for him at this point. He knew that Gabe was in pain, that he suffered. He felt how his twin became weaker with every passing hour. The invisible thread between them had gotten thinner and thinner – worn by the never ending, merciless abuse. Mike feared it would snap any minute. If that happened, he would lose him forever. By the time he heard screams again, different screams, not coming from his brother, Mike's mind had already been too tired to put the pieces together. He sensed something was amiss, something was happening, but couldn't react. The thread was still there, weaker than ever and he had expected it to disappear soon. A thought he couldn't handle, and so he had only curled up more, torn - should he pray? He refused to believe in a god that asked their father to torture them, but if there was a chance it would bring Gabe back to him... He had been adsorbed by his thoughts and the dull, black haze that filled his brain and body and excluded him from the world around him. The first thing that reminded him of still being alive was the voice of his twin, when he called his name.

Gabe stood in front of him and Mike shivered. The youth was naked and covered with blood; it was sprayed over his chest and his hands were red up to their wrists. Most of it was already drying, the smears in his face and on his thighs dark. The blue eyes that gazed at him were empty and withdrawn. 'Like his wake-dreams,' Mike thought and stretched out his arms. Gabe stood completely still. The older twin's fingertips almost touched the skin of his brother's face, but Gabe was out of reach, just a few inches. Mike threw himself against the collar, trying to close the gap, but in vain.

"Gabe, what happened...? You hear me? It's me, Mike! DON'T IGNORE ME!" Even a sore throat couldn't hide the desperation, and finally, something in Gabe stirred. He blinked a few times, then his gaze became more focused. "Mike..." Faint and shaky, almost as hoarse as Mike's own voice. "Mike!" This time more powerful than before, Gabe repeated his brother's name and awoke from his paralysis. Within a second, the older twin found himself back on the floor, his head hitting against the stone, when his twin fell around his neck. The impact made him feel dizzy for a moment, but despite the hard fall he wasn't harmed too much. Gabe had straddled him and was already shoving up his brother's shirt. Hectically, the youth's fingers ran over the pale skin, over the protruding ribs and began to fumble at Mike's shorts. Alarmed by the feverish glow of his twin's face – and still with many questions unanswered – Mike reached for Gabe's hand, hindering them from opening the button of his pants. "Gabe, what happened, where are they...?" Gabe didn't listen. He fought against his brother's grip, his eyeballs moving frenetically from one side to the other. He looked like someone who had lost something vital, something important, and was now about to panic he would never find it again. Anxiously, Mike watched the distraught face – eyelids twitched, as did the corners of Gabe's mouth, now forming a wide, humorless but disturbing grin. "Fuck me, Mike." A clear, unmistakable demand. Without the usual struggling and pretended resistance. And Mike would likely have obliged, but compared to his hurting stomach and confusion about Gabe's appearance, the tingling sensation in his lower region was very weak. Otherwise, he would maybe have ignored all the odd, alarming signs, even the sight and smell of blood. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. He didn't let go of his brother's wrists. He felt the rough, scraped skin. His own fingertips were sore and blood-covered, after pulling and scratching at the collar around his neck for hours over the last few days. The worst harm was done to them when he had begun to chew his nails down to the flesh while he had been lying apathetically on the floor.

"No, Gabe, first tell me what happened," he insisted, trying his best to sound calm. Gabe only shook his head and laughed. "Later, let's do it now. Come on." He tried to pull himself free, and Mike was surprised at the unexpected strength; he actually had to tighten his grip. "MIKE, fuck me NOW!" the younger twin yelled, the grin slowly disappearing from his face. "NOW, Mike! Please, just do it. Hard, as hard as you can. I won't fight back, but fuck me already!" When he couldn't escape Mike's hands, he bent down and kissed him. Reflexively, Mike responded, even lowly growled, when he felt his twin's tongue in his mouth. Yes, he wanted him. But still... the door was wide open and Gabe wasn't... himself, even more than usual.

Unnoticed by him, Gabe had finally succeeded to free his hands and was again busy with Mike's pants. "Not like this... not this time..." The older twin wasn't aware he voiced his thought and Gabe didn't hear him anyway. Abruptly, he sat up, causing Gabe to lose his balance. Once more, Mike seized his brother's hands, this time to stop him from falling back. "Gabe, listen to me..." But the other twin violently shook his head. "No! I need it, now! Mike!" Seeing the haunted, helpless face hurt Mike, just by looking at Gabe, even without his brother's begging words. At this rate, it was impossible to reach Gabe, to really reach him. Although awake, he was more in his weird, dream-like state. "Gabe, listen," he repeated about two or three times more until his twin finally stopped talking and straightly looked at him, with a wan expression. "Will they come?" He sighed with relief when Gabe slowly shook his head. "Are the keys upstairs?" Still holding his twin's hands, he raised his own, nodding at the cuffs. This time, Gabe nodded. Good, short direct questions seemed to work. "Can you get them?" Another nod. "Gabe! Go and get the damned keys!" Mike snapped impatiently when his brother didn't move. "We're doing it then?" the twin whispered back and Mike gave an exasperated growl. "Yeah, as much and hard as ya want, when I have my hands free." Gabe looked at him sceptically; Mike sensed that his brother didn't fully trust him. Finally, Gabe stood up and went straightly to the stairs and left the basement. Alone again. Mike heard his twin's footsteps from the living room, a world that seemed too far away and all of a sudden, he felt cold. Gabe wouldn't return. No, he knew that Gabe wouldn't leave without him, but the idea was strong. Gabe would go, and Mike would stay where he was, a prisoner until he died. Alone. The light bulb would flicker and darken, and he would still lie here, until he starved and nobody would care. He was an idiot. Why didn't he just give Gabe what he obviously needed so badly?

A few minutes later, Gabe returned with two small keys in his red-colored hands. Mike, still sitting on the floor, held up his hands. His brother had already taken his former position on Mike's lap and unlocked, with trembling hands, the handcuffs. The loathed shackles that had bound Mike for years fell from his wrists. While he still stared at them – after the countless times he had tried to get rid of them it was now ridiculously easy – Gabe opened the lock of the collar. Within seconds, Mike was free. Carefully, as if he didn't want to destroy this new freedom by too hasty movements, he felt for his throat. It was gone, really gone. And he really didn't drag his left hand along when he raised the right one. His aching, empty stomach, the sore hands – forgotten. In a way, it was a similar sensation like that night two years before, when he stood outside, feeling rain and wind on his face for the first time. That moment when the idea of freedom had been too large, too powerful to be fully comprehended by his mind. Easily he could stand up and walk away. Where were their parents? Anyway, it didn't matter. The bounds that had forced him to return to the basement and to give up the idea of seeing the outside world again – removed, gone. This time, they wouldn't pull him back. He could take his brother by the hand and leave. Just like that. If this brother wouldn't sit on his lap right now; a factor that hadn't been forgotten by Gabe who watched his twin restlessly. "Mike..." The younger twin raised his hips a bit to gain easier access to his brother's pants again, but Mike stopped his hands. "No, Gabe." Gently, he took his twin's hands in his. The younger twin's face changed to a upset, almost up to the point of being furious, expression. "You said, when you are free..." His whole body spoke of his exasperation – Gabe trembled violently and his eyes didn't stand still for a second. The cheeks feverishly flushed. He pulled away from Mike's grip. "You said we'd do it!" Mike saw more in the desperate face than those words. Gabe's voice didn't beg, his face did. 'I need it. Please, help me. I'm drowning.' He didn't have to say it. Mike knew, no, felt it. "Mike...!" Too much need in this one word. But Mike still sensed it would be wrong. "No, Gabe." He let his hands go and wrapped his arms around the shaking shoulders. "Don't... not now..." Gabe might have tried to escape the embrace, however, Mike felt how his twin's resistance soon became weaker. The first hug they shared since that day he had attacked their mother. He let his hands glide over the bare back, over the protrudent bones of the spine. His head rested on Gabe's shoulder; he could smell his twin's scent, and the scent of blood. He ignored how his brother's body stiffened, that he didn't return the hug and that the arms hung limp by his side.

"Mike," Gabe tried again, "That's not what I need..." But his voice had already lost its overwhelming, pressing despair. "Shut up, it's not always about you," Mike grumbled and with his right hand, he began to gently stroke his brother's neck, his finger running through the soft hair. "It's what I need," he added, fighting the urge to cry when he spoke on. "Glad to have ya back, Gabe. Missed ya, crybaby." Finally, his brother hugged him back, his arms suddenly so tightly thrown around Mike's neck that the older twin feared his twin would accidentally choke him. Yet he didn't care, and when Gabe began to sob, he couldn't hold back either. The cold, the darkness, the pain in his body and bones – meaningless. Being alone and knowing his brother had been suffering alone, too, with only a door between them, had been the worst. Just holding on, he would just have to hold on to him, and the shadows in his head would calm down. Maybe it would have been egoistic, if he hadn't known for sure that his twin was already beginning to feel a bit better as well. As much as the invisible bond between them had been about to snap earlier that day, as much did he sense its force now.

They didn't let go of each other while they were still crying. But once they calmed down a bit, Mike remembered that the situation was weird. They were free when they shouldn't. His brother, still naked, was covered with blood and by now he knew it wasn't Gabe's blood. The door wide open, Gabe how he just went upstairs and got the keys. A vague idea began to take shape in his head; fear slowly filled his guts and reminded him of the sorry state of his own body. "Gabe, tell me what happened." He reached for his brother's hands, removed them carefully from his throat and looked searchingly at his twin's face. The tears had smeared in with the blood, giving Gabe a wild, dangerous look, speaking of an insanity Mike half expected to find in his twin's eyes, too. However, Gabe only gazed at him, again about to space out. "Can't tell me?" His brother shook his head. "Let's go upstairs, okay? Show me?" This time, to Mike's relief, Gabe not only nodded, but also climbed from his brother's lap. Mike hurried to follow him when he already went for the stairs. As Mike stepped through the door, he realized he hadn't been in the living room for years, maybe only three or four times after their father had begun to violate Gabe. He paused after he had stepped on the carpet and looked around. The room he knew from his memory had changed. The neat, bright and orderly living room was untidy and of a similar gloomy atmosphere that reminded him a lot of their room. Shelves were covered with dust and old magazines and used dishes were scattered around the room, along with several pieces of clothes. He recognized Gabe's shirt under a pile of other things. He turned around to his brother who was now silently standing behind the sofa. The TV was still running, a gaudy voice laughed at the audience he assumed to sit on the other side of the screen; a cheerful tune was playing, only interrupted by a static noise when the picture flickered for a few seconds. Slowly, alarmed by Gabe's blank but focused expression, Mike joined him. The sight left him speechless. Somehow, he had guessed something like that, as he became aware now. The vague idea from before. "Did you..." he whispered but he didn't have to finish the question. A look at the two dead bodies and at his brother told him more than Gabe would probably ever tell him. Around their heads, the carpet was of a dark red, and their faces – the remains of their faces – were still wet with blood. Neither noses nor jaws seemed to be in place and it was impossible to read their last expressions.

It was over. Too much to take in and understand. But the life they had known was over, and it wouldn't come back. They hadn't simply been left to themselves for a few days, not just a weekend or even a week when they could take a rest from the constant abuse. They wouldn't return, he wouldn't lash out of them, or pour ice-cold water over them. Or force himself upon Gabe. He would never hurt them again. It was over. And it hadn't been Mike who ended it.

"Fuck." He kicked his father's dead body, carefully first, then harder. "FUCK!" he shouted, and stomped forcefully on the man's torso. Ribs cracked. He kicked him again, until the side of the corpse looked like it had collapsed from inside. He turned to his mother, staring at her smashed face in disgust. "Stupid whore!" He seized her by the hair and pulled her up. The dead jaw dropped open and he grinned at the involuntary smile. She was missing at least two teeth, some more were broken. The smell of alcohol was gone, or probably simply covered by the smell of blood and an odd scent he couldn't define. Maybe that was the smell of death - he didn't know or care. He let her drop carelessly, and as he had done with his father's corpse before, he began to kick the lifeless body. "Whore! Stupid woman!" The corpse simply flung around with every kick. He didn't understand why, but it angered him even more. He wanted a reaction, anything, aware he wouldn't get one. Dead. Like her cat whose skeleton she had removed a few years ago. Neither she nor that man would ever hear what he thought about them. It was too late. He wanted to kill them so badly, had dreamed it so many times, planned it. And now they were already dead. Killed after they had forgotten that he was still there, too. Gabe, always Gabe. Her little angel. He snorted, grabbed the collar of her shirt and shook her. The head was tossed from one side to the other and her open mouth, giving her a stupid expression, aggravated him even more. "Where's your little angel now, mother? WHY?" Whatever he meant with 'why' Mike himself didn't know. He was just so angry at her, at that man, for being dead, for dying and suffering while he was helplessly lying on the floor or the basement. "GABE!" It was Gabe's fault! Why did he do that, why didn't he free him before? Of course this didn't make sense. His brother wouldn't have been able to come for him with their parents alive, but it was just so... unfair. He turned around, ready to attack his brother, but stopped when he saw him. The younger twin had sat down next to their father's corpse and stared at the bloody face. "Gabe?" Mike repeated, less aggressively. "He's still here," the youth whispered. Mike frowned. "Bullshit. He's dead. Hopefully in hell." But Gabe shook his head. "He's still here. I can hear his voice. It's in my head now." Suddenly, he covered his face with his hands and began to scream. Mike almost jumped back. Fear, anguish, pain – it was impossible to tell what else this one, long scream expressed. Helplessness. He was losing him again; something dragged Gabe away from him, although the twin didn't move. Mike rushed over to him and kneeled down in front of him. "Gabe! Wake up! GABE!" He shook him by his shoulders, softly first, then with more force. Finally, the sound stopped and Gabe let his hands drop. Mike had expected tears, but the eyes were dry. However, the piercing, ice-blue stare seemed to go right through him. "Gabe!" he called out for him again and when his brother didn't react, he slapped him. Gabe blinked a few times and looked around him, as if he was confused to find himself sitting on the carpet next to a corpse, with his brother shaking him.

"Mike... Why are you here? Why are you free?" he asked, with a genuine quizzical expression. Mike stroke over the still bloody cheek. "You got the keys, remember?" Gabe pondered hard over this information for a moment. A gleam in his eyes told Mike that his brother finally remembered. "Care to tell me what happened?" His twin only shrugged, and Mike couldn't say if it was because Gabe didn't want to or couldn't explain how he had killed their parents. Mike's own features softened. He had accepted his brother's silence after he had been raped for the first time, and whenever it had been too much for him to bear after that. When even Mike couldn't silence the demons. That Gabe didn't speak now only showed him that his twin was as overwhelmed with the new situation as he was. What had happened was too much for one of them to bear alone. A few days ago he would maybe have pushed him down on the carpet right now, placed himself between his twin's legs and reclaimed him, letting out all his anger on the skinny body that resembled his own so much. Maybe he was too overwhelmed, too worn out or still too hungry – whatever was the reason, he didn't want to play their usual game of being hurt and hurting now. However, he still felt how much he wanted him, despite two corpses lying behind them and his empty, hurting stomach. "Come." He took his brother's hand and pulled him to his feet.

For a moment, they stood still. Gabe was his mirror, the same long arms and legs, the slim shoulders, bony shape... narrow faces with hollow cheeks and dark-rimmed eyes. Mike only wondered if his own eyes had the same wan, haunted look, or if his twin fell from complete apathy into rage and back ever so often as he did. Lost in thought, his finger traced his brother's sternum. The skin seemed so pale, even more so with the dark blood stains. He trailed over the softer skin of his twin's abdomen and Gabe shivered. Mike took that as the sign to continue. His hands reached for Gabe's head and buried themselves into the brown hair. As the younger twin didn't object, he pulled him into a kiss, carefully pushing Gabe backwards while he felt for his tongue.

Relieved that his brother wasn't too spaced out to respond to his kiss and touch – Gabe was already digging his fingernails in the skin of the older twin's shoulders – Mike gave him a final push. Gabe fell backwards onto the couch, and Mike climbed on top of him, shoving and pulling until they both lay stretched out in their full length on the soft pillows. Quickly, Mike removed his shirt and pushed down his pants, both pieces falling to the floor. He covered his brother's body with his, still continuing to kiss him. Gabe had already wrapped a leg around him. The skin felt first cold against his, but warmed up soon. "Want a shower first?" Mike asked when they paused a few seconds to recover their breath, suddenly remembering the blood. Gently, he brushed some hair from Gabe's forehead, playfully toying with a strand. He realized that he liked looking at his brother's face, blood-smeared or not. His twin shook his head and Mike grinned. "Remember how much you wanted to sleep on the sofa when we were children? We can do that now." After all, two ugly corpses couldn't do much about it. The couch wasn't as spacious as he remembered, but huddling together closely it should work. But Gabe turned his head away and looked at their dead father. "Not so much anymore," was the quiet, sad answer. Mike didn't understand that at first, but it dawned upon him when the nails dug painfully deep into his flesh and the leg pulled him closer. While he continued playing with his twin's hair, he bend his head down and kissed Gabe's exposed throat, softly biting the whitish, but also bruised skin. "You did it here a lot," he stated. He expected the rage, but this time, all that filled his mind was a bitter feeling, with only a shadow of his usual anger. He would never forgive what their father had done, but with him being dead, without a chance to make him pay with his own hands, the force of his scorn was gone. At least in this moment.

"He did," Gabe corrected him and sighed when Mike's tongue licked over the sore skin where the collar had been before. The younger twin turned his head back to his brother and pushed him back so they could look at each other. Mike's hand still rested in his twin's hair. "Mike, fuck me hard." His voice almost had the same crazy, needy tone from before. "Not like this!" Mike gazed at the anxious face for a moment, when he caught something in the bright eyes he couldn't place at first. Then he realized that his brother seemed to be nervous. If he had been nervous before when with him, Mike hadn't noticed it, or maybe two dead people in the same room were to blame. He couldn't know that the way his own eyes stared at Gabe today was different from usual. Either way, it didn't matter. "Not like this..." his twin repeated and Mike grinned, leaning into another kiss. "Just like this. He's dead, it's not his couch anymore. So shut up already." His free hand wandered deeper, between both their hips.

So, what was the worth of Gabe's words if his body reacted so eagerly to a simple touch? Mike grinned and bit his brother's lip. His empty stomach grumbled, and as his blood rushed down into his lower body, he began to feel dizzy in his head. So, even if he wanted to give Gabe what he had asked for, Mike would probably faint. And that wouldn't do; if he couldn't see his brother's flinching face when he pushed into him, it would be a waste of time. Letting his hand glide over the soft skin slowly and feeling the increasing heat as a reaction when his fingers stroke through wiry, short hair, wasn't too bad either. Mike could make Gabe's body response; he could make him moan lowly while he kissed him. He could make Gabe wanting to be touched. He wasn't like their father.**  
**Without changing his slow pace, he let his hand wander further down. Somewhere in his mind he was aware that he had never used his hands for more than spreading his twin's legs apart before thrusting into him. Shoving his fingers between the buttocks, he had to slide down a bit; his lips gliding over his brother's throat. His other hand had to let go of the soft, shaggy hair and took hold of Gabe's hand when his brother tried to move his one away from his throat. Now being more hungry for his twin than for food, Mike pressed his own body firmly against Gabe's, about to push one finger into him. But Gabe's sudden reaction hit him almost as hard as his brother's knee that missed his groin only by a few inches. The younger twin violently pushed his brother away and jerked away from him, almost falling from the sofa. "Gabe, what the hell...?" Confusion and disappointment overlapped in Mike's expression. "Sorry, don't think I can take it now..." Gabe pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, his eyes avoiding meeting his brother's puzzled look. Mike followed his twin's gaze, staring directly at their father's smashed up face. "You begged me to fuck you as hard as I can only a while ago. So, now what?" Impatience covered the worry in his voice, and a gnawing fear. The fury - or whatever had Gabe given the strength to kill their parents and had made him desperate before – had vanished, leaving a brooding, haunted boy behind. But that man wouldn't return; it was over. "Don't need it again, Gabe? I mean, never? Don't want me anymore?" Might as well ask now and be over with it. He realized how sad and despondent the thought alone had felt... when his brother shook his head. Gabe still refused to look at him, but his voice was clear. "More than anything."**  
**Relieved, Mike breathed out and relaxed. But however assuring his twin's words were, they didn't explain the sudden change of Gabe's mood. Judging from the expression on his face, Gabe was at loss as well. Vigorously, the younger twin jumped from the couch and began to pace the room, his eyes never leaving the corpse of the dead man, as if he expected the bloody mass of a head lift and cackle at them. In silence, letting his brother be, Mike stood up and walked over to the pile of clothes he had seen before. He dug through it and went back to Gabe, handing him his shirt and pants. Without a word, both twins dressed; the clothes helping to somewhat diminish the awkwardness between them. Stretching his back and arms as long as he could, Mike yawned with his mouth wide opened. Now that his body calmed down from the excitement, he felt another need even stronger than before. "Gabe..." Suddenly, his knees felt weak and the pain that had seemed to disappear when his twin came for him returned at its full force. Grinning faintly, he hugged Gabe from behind, letting his chin rest on the bony shoulder. "I'm hungry..."

"Hey, what's this?" Mike picked up a rectangular device and looked at his reflection on the shiny, metallic surface. Gabe shrugged without even looking at him. Mike put the toaster away and joined his brother who stared into the opened refrigerator. Curiously, he put a hand inside. "Why'd anybody want this being as cold as downstairs?" He took a plate with a slice of meat on it and removed the thin plastic wrap. Lifting the plate to his face, he sniffed at it and flinched. "Weird." With two fingers, he picked up the steak, liking the faint greenish shimmer much more than the pungent smell. He dropped the plate to the floor and bit into the raw meat, chewing on it sceptically. "Ugh!" Choking at the rotten taste, he tossed the steak away and spit on the floor. "Gross, who wants to eat this shit?" He stuck out his tongue and Gabe grinned, handing him a bottle filled with milk. At least something that was familiar, although they hadn't been drinking anything else but water for years. Mike opened the cap and emptied the white contents in one go. The milk had already a light sour taste, but was still okay; they had been given worse. And it made the disgusting taste from the meat go away. "Oh, you wanted some, too?" Mike raised his eyebrows at his brother's frown and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He quickly looked around and finally, he reached for the coffeepot and shook it – it wasn't empty. The lid flew away and Mike took a careful sip. For the second time, he spit out. "Bitter..." He threw the pot into the sink where the fragile china cracked at once. The dark liquid ran quickly down the drain. "Wanted to try it, too." Gabe frowned even more, now seriously looking mad. "Just saved you from this stuff, idiot. But if you want it so bad..." Mike grinned and pressed his lips on his brother's, letting his tongue glide inside Gabe's mouth to give him a full share of the bitter taste. The younger twin tried to move backwards, but Mike's hand against the back of his head held him in place. The first experience with drinking cold coffee already forgotten, Mike didn't even think of stopping. Although still feeling famished, the milk had taken the edge of the urgent hunger and he didn't see a reason why he shouldn't enjoy kissing his brother now. Especially when Gabe gave up resisting. Chilly air came from the opened fridge and both twins instinctively moved closer together, searching for more warmth. The loud growl of Mike's stomach drove them apart. "Here." In a similar flustered state as a little while ago on the sofa, Gabe turned away, fished a large piece of cheese from the fridge and shoved it into Mike's hands.

In the end, their meal consisted of the cheese and a loaf of bread – surprisingly soft compared to the bread they were used to from the food their mother used to bring them. Gabe had tried one of the eggs and gagged when the slimy texture filled his mouth. He had seen them being hard when their parents ate, but neither of the twins had any idea how to make them that way. Absently, Mike played with the buttons of the electric stove and almost burnt his fingers. Hectically, they tried to make the heat stop and when they had finally figured out how to switch off the stove, they had upset every jar in reach and brushed a pile of dirty dishes from the counter. In the end, the floor of the kitchen was covered with food they had decided was inedible and countless shards of broken glass and china. Both boys cut their feet while walking through the mess, but with their mouths and slowly also their stomachs filled they didn't care if they left a few foot-shaped bloodstains on the carpet. Still chewing, they walked across the living room. Each twin glared at the dead couple in a different way – Gabe with a mix of silent horror and disgust; Mike triumphantly and angrily, still irritated because they hadn't died by his hands.

"Gabe, look at this!"

Gabe remained under the door-frame, watching his brother as he jumped onto the large bed. The light body sank into the soft mattress and disappeared for a second between pillows and blankets. Mike bounced back and sat up, grinning at his twin. Memories of their childhood came back to Gabe's mind. Already back then their arms and legs had been bruised and wounds had to be bandaged. Even before he had begun to cut Mike's arms.

The arms. Mike wasn't wearing any bandages now and Gabe stared at the scarred skin. The latest cuts had almost completely healed - opening them would be very painful. "Don't stand there, come over here! Ya have to try this!"

Cautiously, Gabe walked closer, now standing in front of the bed. Mike had stood up and jumped a few times on the elastic surface, only to let himself fall on his back again. He giggled. "Ah!" Now Gabe understood why he suddenly had to think of their early childhood. His twin was laughing. Tilting his head, he looked at the older twin's smiling face. Being beaten hadn't been anything extraordinary back then. So, while they had still been young, he had sometimes caught Mike laughing during their rare, cheerful moments when they had been allowed to leave the basement. Until earlier, when Mike had pushed him away from their father's corpse and onto the sofa, Gabe hadn't realized how much his twin – and therefore he, too – had grown. Their closeness was the only thing that had saved Gabe, and he was faintly aware of it. However, when he was touched by the long, slim and gentle fingers of his brother instead of simply 'by his brother.'... when more than a storm of rage whirled in the ice-blue eyes, it had been more than he could deal with. He was scared to lose himself in his twin's eyes while a large, dark shadow lurked in the deeper corners of his mind, ready to attack and laugh at him when he stopped silencing him forcefully for only a second. Even now he could already hear him whisper, calling him a whore and how he, Gabriel, would never be able to forget him, no matter what his twin might do. That man would always be there, behind him, all over him, inside of him. Gabe shivered. As he closed his eyes to fight back the voice in his head, he didn't see the pillow coming.

"What are you waiting for? Join me!"

His brother was calling him. He wanted to answer with a smile, but it was caught somewhere inside of him, locked away, as were the words he felt that would be a good retort. Like his voice whenever he hadn't been alone with Mike, no matter how much he wanted to scream words of scorn and pain at his father and his mother. But Mike... he waited for a reaction. Gabe sighed. No, he wouldn't be able to join his twin in his cheerful manner. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to. Just embracing him – or ripping the skin off his arms – would be good. Nevertheless he picked up the pillow, took a few steps forward and – the corner of his mouth actually twitching – threw the cushion at Mike. Okay, he had to admit it felt nice. The next thing he knew was that Mike had somehow finally dragged him onto the bed, and they were amidst a pillowfight. A lampshade was knocked over when Gabe tried to avoid Mike's attack and he accidentally hit the nightstand with his legs. He didn't feel the impact, although he had hit against the solid edge of the small table. He heard the shattering of the glass though, but didn't pay any attention to it. Mike's crazy laughter echoed in his head as the fight lost its playfulness. It was fun. His brother's elbow accidentally hit against Gabe's nose. It didn't bleed, but the pain brought unasked for tears to his eyes. Gabe's fingernails clawed into the Mike's arms, tearing small gashes where the skin still was thin. Mike hissed. Fun. Mike laughed. Gabe wanted to laugh, too, felt like laughing. But didn't. Concealed together with the others – anger and smile. He struggled, not really meaning it when Mike bent over him and kissed him. Didn't mind his hands being held and pressed into the cushions above his head. Pillows and blankets under and around him. Soft and warm, different from what he knew. They smelt familiar. Mike's tongue tickled when it ran over his collar bone so gently. Gabe's eyes closed; he was still learning to understand his body's reactions to soft touches. The scents around him became more intense.

Alcohol and sweat. The touches disappeared. He knew that Mike's hand pushed his shirt up and stroke over his skin. But if his brother didn't already stop being careful – and finally scratched him, bruised him, marked him – Gabe wouldn't feel anything at all. He wanted to. Stale, sickly sweet perfume clouded his mind, yet it couldn't drown the more sour smell and the feeling of wet, fat fingers on his hips. Maybe the blood wasn't enough, and when he could get hold of the scarred arms... he tried to pull his hands free, but Mike's grip around his wrists was strong. They engulfed him, hands and smells. Watery, dark-rimmed and almost black eyes stared at him. "Hold still," Mike and the man whispered – grunted – into his ear.

Gabe opened his eyes – no, they had been open all the time, but now, he finally was able to see. His twin's fists drummed against his chest. His own hands hurt, in fact, both arms; the strain was too much on his weakened tendons. "Gabe..." That wasn't the man's voice. He blinked in bewilderment and looked down. Mike was lying under him, trying to drag two hands away, but the fingers were clasped in an iron grip around his twin's throat. Gabe narrowed his eyes. Mike's nose was bleeding, and his own chest moving up and down frantically. The skin of his twin's face was slowly turning dark. In the bright eyes Gabe saw what he could always see when he looked at them – his brother would never turn away in disgust from him, no matter what he did, even if he was a whore or had the blood of their parents on his hands. He was about to drown in this feeling, needed it right now. But when Mike called – rather croaked – his name again, Gabe saw more. A dim shadow, not unlike the one he had seen in his mother's eyes when he had hit her with the fire place poker. And surprise, or was it fear? He definitely felt fear. Was it his own or Mikes? Then he realized it. The hands strangling his twin belong to him. He was confused. Hadn't he been straddled by Mike only a second ago? That had been when he had smelt his father, and heard him. Taken aback, Gabe let go and jumped from the bed. Mike sat up and coughed, violently gasping for air. Trembling, his hands clenched to fists, Gabe watched how the color of his brother's face became normal again. "Gabe... why? You almost killed me, idiot!" Mike snarled, his voice still hoarse. Inwardly, Gabe felt light, as if he was resolving slowly, losing hold of the world around him. His body though was heavy, like iron, dragging him down. He expected to be torn apart, simply to rip into two pieces, any moment. His face suddenly burnt and he saw his twin standing in front of him, the hand still in the air, ready to slap him again if necessary. Right. Mike would never disown him. Would he? The feeling of fear was gone. The glare he met only showed worry and anger. And maybe frustration. If he could only smile at him. Or flinch. Or anything instead of only staring back. "He's here." In the end, that was all he was able to explain. He wanted his twin so badly, but not with the man standing by their side, watching and sneering. But Mike didn't seem to understand. "He's dead, you killed him," the older twin scoffed impatiently, and Gabe shook his head. "He is here, with her. I smell them, everything here smells like him... I don't... it's too much..." He spoke too fast, but at least his voice was still able to express a part of what he felt and couldn't show. Desperately, he only wanted Mike to understand. Mike wasn't rejected - Gabe didn't want to reject him, whatever way his twin might choose to handle him. But he wanted that man to finally go away, fearing that his father's words were true – that he would always be there. If he could only silence the voice in his head like he had silenced that man before... However, Gabe had already calmed down a bit, otherwise having his twin's arms around him wouldn't feel nice.

"Any chance we can sleep here?" From his brother's voice Gabe could tell that Mike already knew the answer. "Sorry," he said anyway. Yet he didn't want to return to the basement and sleep there anymore. Although sleeping wasn't the worst thing, the idea of waking up there and only fearing for one moment that their freedom had only be a dream was far more unpleasant. His twin felt the same about that, Gabe sensed that. "I don't get it, Gabe, ya rather sleep on the sofa where you... he... fucked ya all day. Isn't that worse?" If he could have done so right now, Gabe would have flinched, wishing Mike would stop saying something like that. Using the same words as their father did, speaking out what he did loudly, was only feeding the voice and making it laugh. But if he saw the dead body and the stains on the carpet... "The blood... it smells stronger. It's better." Finally his body was able to show a reaction – Gabe returned his brother's hug. "Stay." He wanted to say more, but that was all that came to his mind. Even though it was only one word, Mike would understand. "Of course, but only if ya don't try to kill me again."

Of course Mike had realized that the covers and pillows had worn the smell of their parents. Unlike his twin though, it didn't drive him crazy. It was more of a triumph – whatever used to belong to his father was his now. The house, the carpet, the food – and nobody would take it away from him, and nobody would try to get between him and his twin ever again. This night, a lot of silent agreements had been passed between the brothers. After the incident in their parents' bedroom, Gabe had decided he didn't want their blood on him anymore. For a minute they stood in front of the door leading into the bathroom, but they never opened it. Too painful memories that couldn't be washed away just because the water was warm, and no kind of triumph could erase the picture of his almost drowned brother from his mind. But in the end, they had won. That man and his wife were gone; the lifeless bodies hardly bore any threat. Regretfully, Mike glimpsed over Gabe's shoulder and frowned at his father's dead eyes. If he only had been here, too. Over the years, there had been so many things he had wanted to shout into the man's face while he was beating him to death. Now he would never have the chance.

The sofa was even narrower than their beds and didn't offer enough space for two almost fully grown boys. From behind, Mike wrapped his arms tighter around his twin, pulling him closer. He had waited for over an hour until Gabe finally had left the shower, and the light body was still cold. Mike could hardly believe that his shivering brother, who was of the same scrawny built as Mike himself, had been impossible to fight back earlier. He had thought he was really going to die this time when Gabe hadn't even heard him... Mike had concluded that this was Gabe's reaction to him for breaking the promise Mike had given him over and over again during the last years. When he had been about to faint he had realized that it had to be something else – the blank stare, the too wide, distorted grin in Gabe's face weren't even aimed at the older twin. Mike began to guess that maybe he had done something to cause the attack, but in the end it could have been anything. He still didn't fully understand what that meant, however, he was relieved that his twin apparently didn't blame him. Not openly. Mike wished that, in this case, he wouldn't be able to sense his twin's feelings.

Guilt and frustration usually were enough for Mike to snap. He wasn't hungry anymore, and being tired was nothing new to him. As it was, he expected to become angry any minute, knowing his blind, raging side hadn't disappeared with the cuffs and leash; it was still there, resting in him peacefully. For now. Tomorrow it might be back. A part of him hoped for it; without his anger he didn't feel like there was much left of him.

Gabe was still awake, too. Although the younger twin was breathing regularly, Mike knew it. His brother was probably staring at the broken face, anxious to not blink for too long or he would miss any movement the corpse might make. They had both been taught about life and death early – the bible had been full of it: in the end, souls always went to Heaven or Hell. They didn't return into smashed bodies and live on as if nothing had ever happened. Yet with Gabe talking about him 'being here', with the darkness around him and the smell of congealed blood knowing and anticipating were two completely different matters. The back of his brother was stiff against his front and Mike let his hand gently move over the bony ribcage and the concave stomach. He hadn't been able to move his arms and hands freely for such a long time, so simply hugging and caressing his twin the way he wished brought back the feeling of triumph. He was exhausted, yes, but that didn't mean he was tired and wanted to sleep. Just because the rage didn't overwhelm him it didn't mean he couldn't have his twin. As long as he didn't do anything to be forcefully pushed away – or strangled – again. His warm lips glided over the cold skin of Gabe's neck. Still slightly wet ends of hair tickled him and he licked away a few drops of water that covered the side of the throat. He heard his brother exhale slowly. Gabe, too, was worn out. In the morning, he had still been the toy of the same man who now lay dead in his own blood while Mike had been lying on the floor of the basement, waiting for death.

It had been a long day and they were still trying to comprehend the new situation. At this point, they were caught in a dream-like world - things had changed so fast from one moment to the other. Pushing Gabe's pants down and pressing his hips against his brother's bottom felt real. Gabe didn't seem to care anymore that Mike's pace was different from usual, at least he didn't protest or jump away from him. He wondered how far he could go this time. Tender moments had become rare since Mike had begun to relieve his tension by taking his twin almost forcefully – yes, of course Gabe was okay with that, even demanded it, but for other reasons than enjoying himself the same way Mike did. The more the older twin was surprised when Gabe pushed closer into the embrace, grinding his buttcheeks against Mike's already hardened groin.

Mike growled lowly, his hand indecisively resting on Gabe's hip bone as he couldn't make up his mind what to do first – touching his twin or getting rid of his pants as fast as possible. It was Gabe who made the decision for him. Cold fingers reached for Mike's hand and pulled it around the younger twin's body, leading it on. Stopping when Mike wrapped his own fingers around warmer skin, surprised when his brother's length reacted to his touch at once. Gently, he began to stroke. When Gabe faintly gasped it was more than Mike could bear. With his other arm under his brother's body, there was no way to free himself from his own pants – it was maddening. He sat up, his one hand not letting go, and withdrew his caught arm. Gabe turned on his back, looking directly in his brother's eyes. Ignoring the numb feeling in his fingers, he let them run through Gabe's hair and over the hollow, blushed cheeks. Then he bent down to kiss him. Vaguely it came to his mind how much this resembled the scene from earlier this evening. Sure, the younger twin didn't push him back, and the expression in his face was unmistakable – as was his whole body language. Everything about his brother mirrored his own desire. His lips brushed over Gabe's ear and, clearly, he heard him panting the moment he began to speak. His voice was throaty, because of the earlier strangulation and his growing need and impatience. "What when I don't stop? Do you kick me or try to kill me?" Gabe didn't answer, but he reached for the waistband of his brother's pants and pushed them down. Without hesitating, he mimicked the movements of Mike's hand. Now it was Mike who had to interrupt. Reluctantly, he seized his twin's hand and shoved it away. "Too fast..." He grinned at Gabe and for a second he thought he saw the corner of his brother's mouth twitch. "Mind if I try that stuff?" He pointed at the nearby table and the bottle standing on top of it. Gabe shrugged. "Doesn't make a difference for me."

Yes, that was more or less what he had said when he had showed Mike the bottle with lotion before they had lied down. "He didn't want pain. For himself. That's why he used it," Gabe had shortly explained. "You said you didn't want it like before anymore," he had added when Mike had wondered what this had to do with anything. Mike had made a snorting sound, grumbling something about not minding a little bit of pain at all. Which wasn't a lie altogether. "How about you?" he had finally asked, and like now, Gabe had only shrugged. "Doesn't make a difference."

For Mike, however, it indeed felt different. After he had reached for the nearly empty bottle and put some of the lotion on the palm of his hand - the weird, sweet smell had almost put him off. But having the cool, slick lotion covering his heated skin when he touched himself made him forget about the scent. He breathed in sharply, close to lose control, and had to force himself to stop. This wasn't how he wanted to gain release. During the whole time, his brother was watching him. "What?" Mike grinned at him. If he judged the expression on Gabe's face correctly, his twin certainly didn't mind what he saw. "You look better than him." This was so calm and, as a matter of fact, it wasn't embarrassing for neither of them. Mike's grin widened, revealing his teeth completely. He was about to regain his usual confidence and feel of control he had felt every time when he had slept with his brother. He brought a still lubricated hand between Gabe's legs. With only a little pressure, his twin spread them. "Hope you don't mind," Mike asked teasingly, casting a side-glance at his father's skull. The hanging jaw gave the destroyed face a ridiculously indignant expression and Mike almost chuckled. He didn't wait for Gabe's response to his rhetorical question - after all, he already knew his twin wouldn't mind. Yet, Gabe gave a hiss of pain when two fingers were pushed into him. "The stuff burns at first, ignore it," the younger twin gasped shortly, answering Mike's questioning look. "Okay..." Obviously, it was really okay, because a short moment later, Gabe's features relaxed a bit. Fascinated, Mike watched him. His twin's breathing increased and when Mike used his second hand to stroke him again, Gabe squirmed. Yet he still was tight around the slowly moving fingers. Not being sure if the lotion had made entering him easier or if it was because his fingers were slim, Mike accepted it as a fact that it probably really didn't make a big difference to his brother. Might as well get over with tonight; he didn't feel like he could wait much longer anyway. Mike removed his hand – drawing a low moan from his twin's lips – and placed himself between Gabe's legs. He grabbed them and shoved them up, so he could clearly see how he, directed by one of his hands, slowly pushed into him, vanishing inside the trembling body.

Gabe was still too tight and stretching him so Mike would fit did cause pain; he could see it in his twin's face, hear it in his hisses. Yet it was a lot easier than usual, and although Mike felt the pressure of tensed muscles, it was hardly painful for him. Gabe's breathing was flat and abrupt and he flinched. But this, too, wasn't as bad as the other times. Mike waited a moment, to keep himself under control and for his brother to relax a bit. Then he thrust, without the feverish force he usually used, but strong enough to make both of them groan. He had never taken the time to gaze that much and long at Gabe's face and he promised himself he would pay more attention to the movements of his brother's delicate features in the future. Even when they returned to the rough way they were more used to. Mike bent over him, burying himself deep in him as he did so. Hungrily, he licked over his brother's lips, letting the tongue slide in, shoving his arms under the younger twin's back when he felt how Gabe wrapped his own arms around Mike's neck. Lifting him up, he let himself drop backwards so he ended in a sitting position, his brother on his lap. A shadow appeared on Gabe's face and vanished as quickly as it had come. "'s that okay?" Mike inquired precautionally, as he didn't want to end with a bleeding nose and a mad brother trying to kill him because he did something that made Gabe snap.

Gabe nodded and began, one leg placed around Mike's waist, to move. Mike threw his head back - he hadn't expected his twin to be the one who took over control. The eyes half closed, the bottom lip between his teeth, Gabe's face still wasn't free from pain. But Mike could not only see that there was also at least some enjoyment, he also felt it against his stomach, hard and slightly wet. Instinctively, Mike let his hand glide over his twin's body, from the collar bone down to his groin, seizing the shaft with his fingers. Their hips moved faster and both twins' upper bodies leaned backwards, helping Mike to thrust as deep as possible. The intense pain was missing, and the older twin was aware that he wouldn't be able to give up on feeling it forever. He knew that both of them needed it. But he also began to guess that the reasons might be different, even if he couldn't name them. However, he also began to believe that there were times they would need each other this more gentle way, too. This wasn't the time to bother with that though. He was trembling as much as Gabe now, if not more. When the younger twin suddenly hugged Mike with one arm, the fingers of the free hand dug deeply into the flesh of Mike's upper arm. The skin broke, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He wrapped his arms around his brother, his face pressed against Gabe's chest, and with a hoarse groan, he let go. Panting heavily, sweat running down his temples, Mike waited until the throbbing decreased. His twin needed a bit more time – or rather care – and before Mike got limp, he helped him with a few gentle, but firm strokes. Slower than before, not letting him in so deep, Gabe continued riding him.

A moment later, Mike felt how his brother tensed around him, giving a short, low moan. The sticky, white liquid covering his hand only seconds later were enough proof for him – in a way, it had been better for Gabe. Hugging him with his one free arm, Mike tried to avoid making a mess, while he slowly had to remove himself from his brother's body. "It's over, Gabe," he whispered, trying to push him carefully from his lap. His legs were starting to feel numb and his back ached. But his twin only tightened the embrace, hiding his face in the crook of Mike's neck. "No. It's never over." Mike shifted uncomfortably, knowing they were talking about two different things.

Mike stood outside and stared into the endless sky. The same pitch-black, devouring darkness, but this time he tried to stay strong, cursing his shaking knees. Somehow, he managed not to collapse under the pressure of endlessness, however, he couldn't stop himself from taking a few steps backwards until his back hit against the outer wall of the house. He sighed and looked around, searching for his brother. Still too dark. "Gabe?" He hadn't seen him since he had climbed outside through the narrow basement window and he wondered what his twin's reaction was when he saw sky. Hopefully he wasn't doing anything stupid again. Something brushed his feet. He looked down. A cat. Small and gray and weirdly skinny with its bones sticking out and the fur hanging loosely on them. He looked more closely. It was almost flat and dusty, like it had dried out. Someone – or something – cried. "Gabe?" he asked again, more shyly. Something was weird, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The cat was sitting in front of him with its mouth open. Maybe it made the sound, but it seemed to come from everywhere but not from the creature sitting on the ground. A strong pull suddenly dragged him from his feet. Quickly, he grabbed the collar that had already tightened dangerously around his throat and the next thing he knew was him lying on the floor of the basement. His mouth was dry; he couldn't scream. The cat had jumped after him and now sat at the feet of the cowering woman. "Worthless bastard!" Nobody else was there. A gust of ice-cold water was emptied over him, soaking his naked body to the bones with a chill. Gabe was here. He couldn't see him but he knew he was here, too. Silently crying his name, he covered his face with his arms when a large, blunt object – a hammer? - was swung at his head.

Mike awoke with a start. Puzzled for a moment, he feverishly looked around, lost. Finally, it came all back to him. With a sigh of relief, he rolled on his back and – as he had done day after day for years – stared at the ceiling. The window, down in the basement... still walled up. He hadn't set a foot outside since the first time two years ago. And nobody would ever again empty buckets of water over him or hit him. He wouldn't die, be murdered, ever. Nobody would ever kill him. Comforting. His parents were still dead and would stay dead. Even without water he felt cold. Gabe was missing. They hadn't talked much, only kissed and entangled themselves from their earlier position. Not caring about cleaning their bodies or dressing again, they had stretched out on the sofa and he had, with his brother in his arms, fallen asleep. Without the warmth of Gabe's body against him it was cold.

Mike turned his head, but before he could wonder where his brother might have gone, he saw the silhouette of a bowed back in the darkness. From outside, through the almost completely shuttered windows, only a few rays of light found their way inside. Dawn was approaching, and Gabe sat next to the body of his father, with his arms around his knees and silently rocking back and forth. Mike opened his mouth, wanting to call him, but closed it again. If Gabe was caught in one of his dreams, it was better to leave him alone and wait until it was over. There was nothing Mike could do. As Gabe couldn't do anything against the loathed feeling of helplessness and the desperate anger that was caused by it. Mike closed his eyes, trying to find sleep again. Later, in the morning, he would throw his brother on the carpet and take him as roughly as he could, easing both their pains this way. Gabe had been right. It wasn't over, would never be.

"Mike! Miiiiiike!"

"WHAT?!" The older twin walked through the cellar door into the living room and shook his head. Water was running down his face and body. He had forgotten to bring a towel downstairs, which wasn't a big thing anyway. It was warm upstairs. After they had figured out where the heat was coming from; they had turned up the heating all the way. They didn't even need a blanket when they slept.

"What is it?" he repeated, slightly annoyed. His twin was sitting on the sofa with his elbows propped on the backrest, his chin resting on his hands. "Didn't you want to sleep?" Mike inquired when a pair of dark-rimmed eyes stared at him. Gabe shook his head. "I'm hungry."

"Eat something," was Mike's short reply. With a frown he picked up his shirt. It didn't smell very good. Not that they were used to clean clothes, but after all they had been washed once in a while when their mother was still alive. Wearing it while raiding the kitchen, having sex and sleeping when it was so warm with his brother close to him that he sweated didn't improve the state of his clothes. Yet he didn't know what to do about it. He certainly wouldn't wear his father's clothes, rather he would stay naked. What was exactly what he would do now, he decided. He tossed the shirt away.

"There's nothing."

Sometimes, Gabe could be a pain. Mike knew perfectly well that there wasn't much food left – and most of what was left tasted disgusting – but what was he expected to do about it? Why him? "What's with the frozen stuff?" They hadn't paid much attention to the freezer. The things inside were too hard to chew, so they had simply ignored it. But as it was there it probably had its use. Gabe shrugged. "Don't know, left the door open. Still too hard." Great. If he only knew how to use the stuff in the kitchen. After a second incident with the stove he wasn't really interested to figure it out. Unconsciously, he rubbed the skin of his right hand. The burn was stronger than the first, but healing quickly; the dead skin already peeled off. He joined his twin and let himself slump onto the couch. "This is boring." He pointed at the running TV. "Who are these people anyway?" Gabe gave up his sitting position and laid his head on his brother's lap, looking up at Mike's sneering face. With one thin finger, he poked Mike's chin. "Hungry!" Mike seized the hand and bit into the poking finger. "You are a pain." True, and equally true was the fact that having his twin's head on his lap while he was naked didn't feel bad at all. "How about making me hungry, and I make you scream again? Like earlier?" He had done so, it had become some kind of a ritual, returning to the old, violating way whenever the younger twin had spaced out or slept again next to the corpse. When he was supposed to sleep on the sofa. Mike didn't get it. Competing for control over his twin – with a corpse. Stupidest thing ever.

Gabe frowned. "Do and I kill you." Mike laughed, but decided not to push that matter. He still hadn't forgotten Gabe's unexpected strength when he had gone too far ten days ago. "You wouldn't." Playfully, he tugged at the unkempt hair. Feeling bolt, he grinned. "You love me too much." Sticking out his tongue, Gabe poked him again, with his free hand. "What if not?"

"I don't know," Mike considered the question for a moment. Not a very nice thought. "I die, maybe?" Gabe's expression hadn't changed, he neither grinned nor smiled. He didn't show any signs of amusement, or feelings in general, very often anyway. Actually, almost never, unless he was sleeping or dreaming. "I don't think I want you to die now," the younger twin finally stated. Mike understood. "Don't want you to die, too." He ruffled the soft hair violently, and, rather ungraciously, shoved his brother's head from his lap. "I'm hungry, too. Is there milk?" Gabe followed him into the kitchen. "No." The stench in the smaller room was sickening, but they hardly noticed it. Sleeping in one overheated room with two corpses for more than a week made them insensitive to the biting smell of rotting flesh.

Another week passed, and Mike grew impatient. They had been used to irregular, poor meals, but after a few days with unlimited access to the kitchen it had been easy to get used to not being hungry, too. "Gaaabe," he wailed, "Leave that idiot and come over here!" Mike was bored and tired. He flicked away a fly that had decided to clean its wings while sitting on his knee. It had only been interesting to watch for a moment. Even less interested, he sat up and played with the lighter that lay on the coffee table and lighted a candle. Boring, too. A week ago, the small, dancing flame had fascinated him. And given him another burn. He should really stay away from fire and other hot things. It looked pretty though. For a few minutes, he wondered what would happen to his hand, or in general, when he didn't shrink back in time. 'Play with fire, and you get burnt,' he thought, reflecting the sentence, sensing that there was more meaning to it than he could grasp. In the end, getting burnt wasn't much fun, but it was better than being bored to death. So was playing with fire good or bad...? Confound it all, he wasn't a deep thinker. It didn't matter, so he blew out the flame. He wanted to fuck, hoping it would relax him, but Gabe had learned to make himself very clear when he didn't want to. And Mike was slowly learning to differ between attacks that belonged to their game and those that might end ugly for him. Unless he retaliated. But he wasn't his father, so as long as he could, he would try and respect his brother's boundaries. Anyhow, when Gabe had stood above him, holding the fire poker high up in the air, ready to strike a second time – flinching at the thought, Mike rubbed his shoulder; there would be a big, dark bruise before the day was over – he had gotten a vague idea how Gabe had been able to kill their parents.

"He's moving."

"He isn't, dumbass." With an annoyed groan, Mike stood up and walked over to him. Not too gently, he kicked against Gabe's back. "Do you plan lying here all day?" No answer. As restless as Mike was growing, as apathetic was his twin. Mike felt caged, he wanted food, he wanted to get away from the stench. At the beginning, it had been reassuring to see the dead bodies. They and their smell had been a proof of their newly gained freedom. But he got sick of the sight. Not because they were slowly decaying. Staring at them had become a pointless reminder of his own broken promise. He growled lowly. Would he ever stop thinking about that stupid promise? They were dead, that was all that mattered. Gabe shouldn't hold him responsible or be mad at him. He, Mike, should be angry at Gabe, for spoiling the fun of killing them. "HEY! I'm talking to you!" He put his foot on his brother's hip and turned him on his back. Indifferently, the youth look up at him. "He is moving," Gabe declared, his eyes flickering dangerously. "He is not moving," Mike repeated, seriously tired of this discussion. "The worms are moving, they eat him. Get it in ya head, he's dead." Gabe shoved the foot away and got on his feet so abruptly that Mike actually stumbled backwards. His glare was reflected in his twin's clear eyes. His face mirrored in a face that mirrored his own... Mike was already losing himself in those eyes and thoughts, but the angry glare held him in this world.

"You think I don't know he's dead? She is dead, too. Dead. And you know why?" the younger twin hissed, the mocking tone betraying the blank expression of his face. Here we go, Mike thought, knowing all the time that this had to happen sooner or later. He had hoped for never. Yet he didn't back off. "No idea, Gabe, why don't you tell me why? I bet you've been dying to tell me forever now, right?" Spreading his arms in mocking defeat, he imitated his twin's threatening voice. Either Gabe didn't get the sarcasm or he chose to ignore it. "I killed them. I! And it was the greatest thing ever!" Gabe chuckled, an unusual sound for him. "But you know what? I broke his face and it was awesome! His blood, awesome, the noise when he spit blood! Her screams when she spit blood!" He was laughing now, directly in Mike's face. Suddenly, his hands shot forward and pushed Mike backwards. Taken by surprise by the unexpected impact, the older twin lost his balance and fell backwards on the sofa. Within a second, his twin was above him, shaking him by his shoulders. "But it was your promise! Liar! You said you would kill them! You said you'd stop them, never leave me alone! You always left me alone!" The words rushed out of him and stormed through Mike's head. The force of the outburst was hard to bear; Gabe was completely unpredictable. Even his twin failed at reading him, if he would keep on yelling, if he would break down crying, if he would attack Mike – all was possible. And the worst about it – Mike knew Gabe was right. "Know what, brother? You are useless, as useless as them! I hate them, I hate you! You never helped me... You are worthless!"

Mike had enough. If his brother wouldn't cry, he would make him cry alright. Nobody would ever call him worthless again. He grabbed hold of his twin's arms and hurled him down. Gabe didn't let go, and in the end, both brothers landed on the floor. The impact upset the table and an empty bottle wobbled from the top and stopped right in front of the distorted, rotting grimace of their father's face. His gooey eyes set at the twins, he seemed to grin at them as they rolled over the carpet. "You failed me!" Gabe shouted and landed a hit with his fist in his brother's face, missing the nose by an inch. "Not true," Mike yelled back, catching the arm that had hit him, trying to push it to the floor. "I couldn't kill him! Because you did! I helped you! Who cleaned your wounds, whom did you hurt, who made him go away when you came back from upstairs? YOU were too weak to deal with the pain yourself, always!" He dodged another punch, but didn't see Gabe's knee coming. He doubled over when he was kicked in the stomach. Gabe hurried to get back to his feet and grabbed the next blunt item he could take hold of – the bottle lying in front of his father's head. He smashed it against the edge of the table, his body acting on its own when he turned to his panting brother. He raised his arm, ready to strike and ram the sharp edges into the soft flesh of his twin's throat. Then his hand dropped and his face changed back to its normal, blank expression. "I can't." He let himself drop onto the carpet and shoved a few sweaty strands of hair out of Mike's face. "You are right. I want to do it again, you know. See the eyes break, Mike. It is beautiful. But I can't. Can't kill you. You are right, I'm weak." Despite the pain Mike grinned. "You know, I wouldn't call it 'weak' when you don't kill your own brother." Gabe shrugged. "I killed my own mother and father. Is there really a difference?" Mike lifted his head and looked straightly into his twin's eyes. "I hope there is. I wanted my father and mother dead, too. I want to hurt you, but also not. I feel like I want to kill you, too, sometimes. But I don't want you to be dead. Or so." Too complex and abstract. "Not because you are my brother or not. I love you." There, simple as that. Gabe only stared back at him, Mike saw how his mind worked, pondering the words he had said over and over before he answered. "We are not worth to be loved," Gabe finally replied, hesitantly. Mike shook his head. "I know... but still... well... if we wanted to kill our family, but not each other... you think there are exceptions possible?" What was it with all this thinking today? Maybe they should just have continued brawling until they were too tired to think at all. Gabe nodded. "Yeah." That ended the conversation. Mike glanced half in anger, half in triumph at his grinning father. 'I won't let you win. He's mine.' He joined Gabe when his brother crawled onto the couch and stared at the TV. The flickering had become worse, and sometimes there wasn't a picture for more than a minute, but it was better than nothing. They watched in silence, Gabe's head on Mike's lap, without really caring about the show. Thoughtfully, Mike stroke through his brother's hair. Maybe it was about time. The lighter that had fallen to the floor, too, while they had been fighting, caught his eye. What would it do to a body? They should find out and move on. "Hey, Gabe, let's try something fun." And if his theory about fire and humans was right, he would finally get rid of that man who still stood between him and his twin for good.

The smell of burnt human flesh was disgusting, but also intriguing. It had taken a few tries to set the corpse of their father ablaze, but in the end, after they had set the flame of the lighter to his clothes first, it worked. Gabe had added a few pieces of firewood and paper – things he had seen being used when their mother had lit a fire in the fireplace. Now they were sitting on the carpet, watching the flames eating the body away; slowly but without mercy. They had to crawl further away when the floor caught fire, too. Without really realizing it, they soon stood at the other end of the room, holding hands, and staring at the sizzling flames eating away the remains of flesh from that man's skull. The smell soon became sickening, mixing with burnt fabric, wood and plastic. Their mother had caught on, too. The terrified look on her face disappeared for ever. The heat became unbearable, and breathing was difficult. Maybe it had been their will to survive that had made them back off to the door instead to one of the corners where blazing walls would have imprisoned them. "Gabe, it's time..." Mike whispered, tugging gently his brother's hand. Gabe nodded and Mike turned around, pushing down the handle of the door. With a last look back over their shoulders, they closed the door behind them, leaving their home to the flames. They passed the broken mirror in the corridor, ignored the clothes racks with coats and scarfs. Mike opened the last door separating them from outside. In his dreams and fancies, it had been a walk of triumph, he had planned to kick the door open, to yell at the world outside, to storm through the opening and laugh, mocking the parents he had killed with his own hands. Nothing of that happened. They simply walked outside. The chilly air of March greeted them. They walked in silence, side by side, hands still intertwined. And before scared and alarmed neighbors ran towards the burning house twenty minutes later, the twins had disappeared into the darkness.

The End

Epilogue

_July, 1959_

"Have you heard? Mr. Williams's dog is dead, too." The boy wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was hot, even for July. The grass was dry and the people in the neighborhood were almost constantly watering their gardens. Life had been boring lately after the excitement over the fire had died down. He hadn't known the couple very well anyway. The man hadn't been very friendly and the only memory he had of the woman was from many years ago, when she had given him a piece of apple pie during a picnic. The fire itself had been fun, with its bright flames and the loud horns of the fire trucks. He would never admit that he had been scared at first.

Anyway, the fire and the death of the couple had been a top issue for a while and his mother and her friends hadn't talked about anything else. Then the property had been cleaned, an elderly woman, who was the dead woman's mother as he was told, visited the place once and then sold it. Next, there were tests awaiting him and more training. Before he knew it, it was summer and the greatest mystery were stolen clothes from a clothesline three streets away. Occasionally, there were a few attempts on housebreaking, but only once a fridge had been looted. It was very weird.

"So what?" Another boy, maybe two years older with his 17 years, put the ball away and took the bottle of water the younger one offered him. He tossed his cap aside, revealing hair of the same bright red color as the other boy. Brothers. "Could never stand that mutt. Remember how it tried to bite me when I climbed over Old Billy's fence?" The younger brother grinned and faked the high-pitched voice of their mother. "It's Principle Williams, young man." The older youth hit him playfully and they laughed.

"What is it?" At the other end of the rough sports ground – nothing more than a meadow lying waste for more than ten years now – a teenage boy joined his identical looking brother. They were secluded by the high-grown shrubberies around them, but had a clear view on the playing field. They were as sweaty as the boys running around in front of them, but offered otherwise a completely different sight. The clothes they were wearing didn't really match and were too wide for them. Although the fabric was in a better state than those clothes they had thrown away a few weeks ago, they looked already dirty and ragged. Sleeping outside, under bushes or in neglected garden shacks, had taken its toll.

The brown hair was greasy and stuck to their heads. Both boys' hands were covered with dirt, as were the shirts. At a closer look, several dark bloodstains were visible. Worse than the clothes were their arms and legs. All limbs showed older and newer bruises and gashes, and both arms of the twin standing behind the first now showed a countless collection of scars, many of them several years old.

The sight of homeless bums was rare in a nice, peaceful sub-urban district like this, but those boys didn't even fit the description of ordinary street people. There was something wild and raw about them, not like those who had separated from society. More like two creatures who had never been part of any society.

"I'm watching," Gabe replied and Mike's gaze followed his. Two boys of their own size and probably age were taking turns with throwing and hitting a ball with a bat. "Since when are you interested in Baseball?" the older twin inquired teasingly and poked his brother's ribs. In one of the places they had slept for a while they had found a pile of sports magazines, mostly about baseball. Neither of them was very interested in reading about a bunch of men running over a field after a ball. Gabe shrugged. "Like the sound when the bat hits the ball." Mike grinned suddenly when he read his brother's face. He wrapped one arm around the slim waist and his lips neared his twin's ear. "Wonder how a bat hitting a head sounds, right?" The younger twin shivered. "And I don't mean a stupid dog's head," Mike continued, and for a second, the corner of Gabe's mouth showed the hint of a smile.

"Let's go." Gabe set himself into motion so abruptly that Mike had to hurry to keep up with him.

They left their hiding place and walked directly towards the two boys. The two redheads stopped their play and stared at the two weird figures. They couldn't remember ever having seen twins for real, and those twins certainly were an odd sight. "What do you want?" the older brother snorted, not liking the look of the one twin's face at all. It reminded him of a large animal that was about to attack its prey any moment, like he had seen it in a documentary on TV a while ago. Straightening his back, he glowered at them, holding the bat in his hand firmly. He didn't receive an answer, and before he could react, they stood in front of him and a fist knocked him down.

The younger brother screamed, shouting for help, but the other twin – with the less insane look in his face, but with the scarred arms – had taken a hold of him. They were about the same size and the redhead stared directly into ice-blue, cold but amused eyes. A second later, he was pushed to the ground and a bare foot kicked him into the groin, then, following his twin's example, against the head. "Hey Gabe, this is fun, should have done that sooner." Mike grinned at his twin, and to his surprise, Gabe grinned back. 'Told you so,' he could read easily from his brother's eyes.

Half an hour later, Gabe sat in the dust, emptying one of the bottles of water they had found in the bags of the boys. His gaze was fixed on his twin's back who stood a few steps away from him. Holding the bat in his hand, he mimicked the swings he had seen the taller redhead doing. "Fun?" Mike turned around at the question. "Yeah," he replied, sitting down next to his brother and snatching the bottle from his hands. "Damn, that was really fun." He let himself fall on his back and stared at the bright-blue sky. The fascination and suppressing fear had disappeared after a while, but looking at the endless blue or black, depending on the hour, would probably always have a spine-tingling effect on him. "Next time we kill," Gabe declared, and Mike nodded in agreement. Maybe they should have done so instead of letting those idiots escape, but watching them flee, dissolved into tears, had been entertaining, too.

"Mike..." The voice had changed, not being more than an anxious whisper bearing a clear warning. Mike sat up. A small group of three people was marching towards them, talking eagerly. The boys they had just beaten up, together with a grown man. Mike hated him the moment he saw him. The man's hair was as red as that of the boys – except a few white strands - and a bushy beard covered his face. He looked angry. But what really made Mike loathe him was that he was of the same age and built as their father.

"Dad, those are the guys," he heard the older son whine. Mike's frown changed into a grin when he saw the youth's swollen face and already blackening eye. The younger one was limping. He gave Gabe a sign to come closer. "Didn't you want to know the sound of the bat hitting a head?" His twin nodded and Mike handed him the bat and stroke over his brother's cheek. "Have fun." Gabe's eyes flared up in excitement. He took hold of the bat, bent down and gave his twin a light kiss. Then, with a grin on his face and his arm raised, he ran towards the intruders. Mike searched the bag again, delighted when he found some sandwiches and a chocolate bar. He hadn't had chocolate since he had been a small boy. He opened another bottle and watched his twin, making a chuckling noise while he drank. Water spilled over his face. 'Bet that man hasn't expected to get the bat back – against his head.' Really, he should trust Gabe's instinct on that. It was indeed a nice sound, and his twin was clearly enjoying himself. 'I'm spoiling him.' Mike laughed and put the bottle away, picking up the second bat. Time to join the fun.


End file.
